Fat and lazy, my day is hazy
Tunes cranked up, found a VHS tape in the garage. Brought it inside and popped it in the player. LIVE RUST, classic Neil. . . the stuff I listened to back in the day.
boxes of crap, a box with an old passport in it. Back when his name was Buster. His social security card in it. Buster Thomas Frank. I love that kid and miss him a lot. We haven’t spoken in a year at this point. Despite weekly attempts to communicate with him, it’s clear that he wants nothing to do with me. Sound familiar? They say history repeats itself, well; in my case it has so many times, you would think I would get the picture.
Sedan Delivery at FULL volume, singing along with the tape. Rock’en out in the valley, right on. Powder Finger, like an old friend. The music of my misguided youth. Has to be loud.
Blank stares from strangers
stopped to watch just because
Trying to connect
wanting things to make sense
Need to escape
in a cloud of cigar smoke
Pumping gas at the corner station
always wanted life to feel like a vacation
Moronic ramblings in the early afternoon. I tell myself I want to write more, expand a little. What’s stopping me? At times I feel like I have some things to say. Not sure where my life is heading, but that’s OK. Ebb and flow baby, it’s all a part of life.
I don’t operate in the real world. I feel very lucky to be a highly functioning idiot. In my world, the good guys win and it’s entirely ok to break into song and dance.
Quartez the Killer, I used to use the instrumental intro for my zombie routine as a kid. I was in a teen contest once at Bill Brewe’s Magic Shop. The curtains open, my music starts, I start to float the ball when it all of a sudden it falls to the ground with a crash and breaks in half. Great way to start out in a competition.