Nonsense
In a an effort to start writing more frequently, I sat down the other night and wrote without stopping until I had run out of room to write on a page. I cam up with the following, some of it actually makes sense to me.
"Moby fronts on Minor Threat on tv, while I just bought the complete discography, of television. I think Marquee Moon was a Nick Drake song, lodged in the back of his throat that he never got out. Dallas, texas seems lke a miserable place to live, but a horrible place to visit.
If this is art, I'm ripping somone off, like an Exploited patch on a torn denim jacket sewn high above the hair on thier heads.
Liberal journalists are tigers, nestled black into the cool dark waters spilling from the tailpipe of a giant black bus with a horrible nick name.
The neighborhood drunks are yelling outside and I know they're wearing little blue plastic bracelets like the kind you wear when commited to an asylum only without the boltcutters or the strands of shiny red rope.
I hang myself while my teeth touch the ground and pray for soil to give way and fill in the holes I dug to make my dad proud.
I'm running out of time."
In other news:
* New band with cool dudes
* Website I've been working on actually got approved!
* I'm outta hand horny right now but can't do anything about it becasue I'm at work and they probably would frown on me rubbing one out at my desk.
"Moby fronts on Minor Threat on tv, while I just bought the complete discography, of television. I think Marquee Moon was a Nick Drake song, lodged in the back of his throat that he never got out. Dallas, texas seems lke a miserable place to live, but a horrible place to visit.
If this is art, I'm ripping somone off, like an Exploited patch on a torn denim jacket sewn high above the hair on thier heads.
Liberal journalists are tigers, nestled black into the cool dark waters spilling from the tailpipe of a giant black bus with a horrible nick name.
The neighborhood drunks are yelling outside and I know they're wearing little blue plastic bracelets like the kind you wear when commited to an asylum only without the boltcutters or the strands of shiny red rope.
I hang myself while my teeth touch the ground and pray for soil to give way and fill in the holes I dug to make my dad proud.
I'm running out of time."
In other news:
* New band with cool dudes
* Website I've been working on actually got approved!
* I'm outta hand horny right now but can't do anything about it becasue I'm at work and they probably would frown on me rubbing one out at my desk.