Wednesday, December 03, 2003
On the fifth night of the fourth day in the 18th hour you will see me kick through the front picture window with my cojones in hand, bumping mc ren’s greatest hits and the chuck woolery version of every event and thought ever recorded in these here pages of posterity tucked safely under my belt for future reference.
I don’t want you to be afraid. I want you to know, that if you know, then I am there. Or here. Or there. It’s really up to you. Know that I am where the fish meets the walrus and that which is missing is that which is suddenly relevant. The og’s will know and the kibble haters will glow. In the aftermarket glare of an exhaust kit bought from a very large pseudonymical gangster with a fake beard and a real smile. Gold teeth and bling blinged out molars. Coked out plasma injected paper haters and waiter freighters all lined up for a goddamm fucking piece.
And if you’re really into that shit, you can say you were there, for the brief flashlight shining in through the south entrance. And you knew that when the dragon exited, that shit, albeit it ever so bold, there’s no place like the back yard over by the hot tub, formerly known as Lindsay’s place, to hang your head, light up a whatever you call it, and just stare blankly and blissfully off into the midnight sky, taking in the moon and her many layered rays, stars twinkling, somewhere out there a star dying its last throes, not to be seen by us or even the most powerful telescope by the Jupiter crew on the dark side of Uranus for at least like 83 billion years.
so shine on you crazy diamond, and bring me some of that championship hot sauce when your back in the old neighborhood. cuz you know i'm gonna wanta hear all the old news, the new news, the inconsequential jinx bathroom shit, and above all else, the underground dirt that dirk mcgirk and the freestyle crew from up on 7th ave have been talking shit about for like about 72 astro medallions plus. gracias.
Monday, December 01, 2003