the BRUTAL, UGLY truth of my FABULOUS, BEAUTIFUL life.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
9:34 p.m. + 2004-09-09 = see, i DO use math.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
have misplaced all writing utensils. have driven back to l'mini apple from st. peter sans any form of soundtrack. save the song partially crafting itself in my head. the partial song, which must be documented so as to not lose it for it seems quite remarkably good compared to its slightly older siblings. the equation:
if, no writing instrument = -x
and, fear of word processing applications on macintosh computers = y
and, the urgent need to capture partialsong before it forever scampers away into oblivion = z
then, (-x + y)z = D
D is equal to "antiquating any rule i may have regarding the expression of rockstar-pojken in othersideof-pojken's diaryland."
so, it is clear to see what must be done. and such as, follows:
full ashtray, empty glasses. crisp bartab, crumpled napkins. we're drinking to all the good times until i'm drunk on all the regrets... and pass out in our, respective, empty beds. bleeding fingers fret and strum on a guitar. over the muffled backbeat of a broken heart.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
comments?? --->[thisaway]--->[[looks to me as though there are...]]---> 0 repercussions thus far
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[prologue] *** [epilogue] ***[plottwist!]
[[erstwhile]] ***** [[forthwith]]
