oh, where does it all go?
time is a transformative motherfucker.
do we become cats, moths or bitches?
I want to be resurrected as a John Coltrane record.
preferably A Love Supreme.
priorities change like a wire through a door.
last week I threw a juicer I had just bought into the East River.
this week, I am worried about the harbingers of traffic and texmessages.
cold seems to burn colder.
I hate growing older, because of the disappearance of my nerves of steel.
get me started on eyes and living in them.
a forever that is even more than the forever we think of.
a truck stop, a broken arm palace, a company replaces a dead dude in less than a month.
I am more than a song, a season, a laugh, a memory.
there is a good chance we won't make it to lunch.