Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Lance Bass and boyfriend split? Guthrie's all over that shit.

I thought I'd take a moment, a breather, from furiously bending my fingers in unnatural ways in order to bring you musical zeros and ones. I have been writing in this blog for several weeks now, the stickysweet lingerings of champagne still clinging to the front of her hull, and trying to write in it every day. I have succeeding with fairly few misspellings(sp?) but what of it? Where will I go? What will I do?

My thoughts, like an unruly van full of preteens. My head, a chuck-e-cheese's.

Of course, I will continue to write. I am compelled by my music, it goads me, eggs me. It lives in the tips of my fingers and tells them to touch these plastic keys. and if I forget? I turn flagellate; my back becomes bloodied and stripped raw from several guitar strings taped to a set of keys.

Since Monday I have had no job aside from the writing work that was gracious enough to give me, alms for the poor. In other words, this is my living now, I am a...a... freelancer. I shake my metal cup, huddled beneath a blanket, and accost those who are daring enough to walk to the outside corners of the internet.

But the future looks bright. Soon enough this blog, the ceiling leaking from the blog above, the floorboards creaking and flimsy enough to see the blog below, will be redone. The boxes are still lying everywhere, but it will only take a month or two to clear them out, put them on the curb. and a buddy of mine is getting rid of a couch, so you guys can at least have a seat.

In other words, keep reading and I'll keep you posted on the best news like this and this and this.

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