So let's play at blogging. Shall we?
It's 2:30 in the morning Eastern Standard Tribe, and I'm bouncing overblown phrases back and forth with my favorite New Zealander as she opens a bottle of Rose' a day and 8,000 miles away, trading thoughts on the latest Kings of Leon album while she quizzes me on why the hell I'm still up in my part of the world.
I don't really have an answer. But I will say that "Sex On Fire" could possibly be the pop song to fuck to for the next ten years, and there is some accidental poetry to the line "the demon and me were were the best of friends from the start," so maybe there's some merit to the album.
But it's 2:30 in the morning and I'm hacking away at a film script and wondering through what device it has occurred that all the people in my life I adore are a plane ride away from, at minimum. Somehow I think there's a purpose to that.
I'll figure that out tomorrow.
It's 2:30 in the morning Eastern Standard Tribe, and I'm bouncing overblown phrases back and forth with my favorite New Zealander as she opens a bottle of Rose' a day and 8,000 miles away, trading thoughts on the latest Kings of Leon album while she quizzes me on why the hell I'm still up in my part of the world.
I don't really have an answer. But I will say that "Sex On Fire" could possibly be the pop song to fuck to for the next ten years, and there is some accidental poetry to the line "the demon and me were were the best of friends from the start," so maybe there's some merit to the album.
But it's 2:30 in the morning and I'm hacking away at a film script and wondering through what device it has occurred that all the people in my life I adore are a plane ride away from, at minimum. Somehow I think there's a purpose to that.
I'll figure that out tomorrow.
casiopea:
ashander:
