brain dead, spent time in hollywood, actors about and no celebrity presence realized, but then I realized who we were and what was going on, the subtle and conspiratorial designs of our presence. buying expensive ass shirts with no obligation other than to wear the hell out of them, and now I owe to wear something strange in the hair for full working effect, but my back is dead and my brain feels close, we watched coheed and jammed beyond our wildest comprehension, working on small parts of good new songs, cutting out a fraction of the chours to incubus the shit out of it. I am leaning back against the covers wondering if I left my book somewhere spectatcular.
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falling in love over again, stumbling over myself in torrents but somehow we get by high just fine and everything else falls away in segments, sections and jam sessions, but all is well on this western front, but not quiet. we are loud and in charge of every moment
