Friday, March 07, 2003
i snuck one of the company motorcycles out for a couple rides yesterday, the second one with Mrs. P riding on the back. Riding up the quarry rode with the wind in our faces, no helmets, no protective gear, just the theory of manifest destiny guiding us back to the shop and safety. I kind of like that feeling when you're like "shit, this is dangerous," and yes I mean we weren't exactly bungee jumping or anything or diving off the empire state building into a tin can, but still, ya know? ya know? no? yes.
Riding motorcycles is tha bombizzle. I'm down with it. yeah I'm white but cut me a break i'm hooked on rap music.
Where the hell has Randy Rhoads been lately? He hasn't come out of the woodwork to haunt me for at least a couple months it seems like. I miss that goofy guitarist feathered-hair foolio. good guy, really.
this blog is really going nowhere, isn't it? it's like, keep writing keith, and it shall grow, but sometimes I wonder if I'm overwatering it, or giving it the wrong food, or just plain am a bad blog-daddy. maybe i wasn't cut out for this game. maybe i'm just a little whiner that wants some sympathy today. I'm tired of ending every post with some clever little saying like "ok i will shut up now" or "and then all the kings horses raped all the kings men" or "long beach" or "glendale" or "west side playaz rollin dubs club." It's so played out, and I played it, it's all my fault. every last bit of it. useless.
puhhleeezzee. nobody asked you to write this crizop. you write it for you and the secret society of mice living in your desk. just because it doesn't work properly at times or your readership is stagnating at the same rate no matter what you do, short of bastardizing goat cheese, don't take it out on your fine loyal readers that accidentally bump into this place looking for kool keith and accidentally finding joe johnson. it is not their issue.
am i really doing all i can do? maybe it's time for drastic measures. maybe i need to start talking about my gun collection or my tsetse fly obsession, topics of which i swore would not be broached. maybe it's time to talk about my broach fetish. maybe it's time to start tackling the tough issues like guns in prison.
maybe it's time to shove it all up my ass and hold my breath. the sun has to come up, and then my skin will sizzle, burn, and melt, and all will be well. come sacred jewel of the nile and percolate my blood as was written in the sacred shakra.