I'd find any excuse just to make a post,
anything will do.
But when it comes to writing it, I'm speechless.
I cannot express the words that were rambling & throwing themselves around in my head just a second ago.
if only i could get a grasp on my undivided consciousness, & put it into literature.
the only thing i really want right now is to get my license, so i can get into my shit ass of a car, drive with the windows down, & have Cody Chestnutt blaring, whilst having the warm wind in my face, ruining the very hairstyle I had spent approximately twenty minutes on.
And then finally arrive in Torquay, and camp overnight in a old tinned trailer.
Some day. Hopefully
I'm going to be so gay one day, that I'll paint my nails aqua, drape myself in silver velvet, with the words, Silver Palm Trees printed across my forehead & in the meantime I'll be shitting glitter in tune to Ride Like The Wind.
I may not seem like a world leader, but I am in fact the next soft porn party.
I'll live on the rich populated Mayday Rd, in the 29th apartment, with my friend, Edgar Murder III, and you will find us head banging to Nights In White Satin, with olive martinis drugged with date rape in our hands. He'll be wearing a charcoal fur coat, worth not even £5,000 because he's one rich motherfucker who pays his bills on time & drives in an old pizza delivery van.
But I don't have time for the rich & the famous.
I have a latex business to run for fuck's sake