Who's a lazy bastard then?
Me, me, me.
Far too long between posts, and for no good reason. It's been fiendishly busy for me for these past five weeks, but not so busy as to preclude posting a journal entry or two. My neck glands are secreting a chemical form of chronic laziness and denial into my system...something must be done about it. Selah.
And to hell with that. Yesterday I finally met some of the beautiful creatures that stalk this site in the flesh. A big hello to spookshow_baby and babyfirefly, two Woollongong girls with incredible edible hair and a love for all things sex and rock and roll. I salute you twice...each.
I also had the (brief) pleasure of meeting morgannahh at the bar. She's twenty feet tall, with sterling silver arms and a razor sharp belly beak. Don't believe a word of it, she's like a little ray of black light sunshine in the shape of a girl. Selah.
Played some music today, yessiree, music music music. The only thing missing today was the drugs, which are few and far between. The rock and roll took care of itself. Well sung, Steven, you're a credit to the species homo vocalis erectus.
I have a thousand-tonne weight of assignment responsibility weighing down my scrawny neck and I'm not gonna take it anymore. I can't wait until this damn diploma is finished. All I want is my dream car, one of these beautiful cabinets for my rig and to rock like this man. By muff, it's going to happen this year, or I'm done for.
I can't believe I'm in the quagmire of study when the holidays are on. Lips, beach, bourbon, nipples, rock and roll...it's ALL OUT THERE and I'm face down in books, rather than buttocks. What the hell, who needs a business degree. Maybe I'll switch to marketing and sell the world instead of trying to own it.
Enough drivel. Time to get down (ironically) to business:
1. Finish diploma.
2. Take a four month break. Maybe five.
3. Work my ass off...sell a bunch of guitars.
4. Build Tori's guitar.
5. Buy that Firebird.
6. Road trip with the biker bitches.
7. Write those songs.
8. Get that band.
9. Meet Elvis.
10. Fuckin' rock.
Start being a teenager at twenty-four...why not? The boy becomes part man, part pile of unwashed clothes and hormones. It's all uphill from here folks, hopefully at some ludicrous incline I can barely handle.
Yowza.
Double yowza.
Me, me, me.
Far too long between posts, and for no good reason. It's been fiendishly busy for me for these past five weeks, but not so busy as to preclude posting a journal entry or two. My neck glands are secreting a chemical form of chronic laziness and denial into my system...something must be done about it. Selah.
And to hell with that. Yesterday I finally met some of the beautiful creatures that stalk this site in the flesh. A big hello to spookshow_baby and babyfirefly, two Woollongong girls with incredible edible hair and a love for all things sex and rock and roll. I salute you twice...each.
I also had the (brief) pleasure of meeting morgannahh at the bar. She's twenty feet tall, with sterling silver arms and a razor sharp belly beak. Don't believe a word of it, she's like a little ray of black light sunshine in the shape of a girl. Selah.
Played some music today, yessiree, music music music. The only thing missing today was the drugs, which are few and far between. The rock and roll took care of itself. Well sung, Steven, you're a credit to the species homo vocalis erectus.
I have a thousand-tonne weight of assignment responsibility weighing down my scrawny neck and I'm not gonna take it anymore. I can't wait until this damn diploma is finished. All I want is my dream car, one of these beautiful cabinets for my rig and to rock like this man. By muff, it's going to happen this year, or I'm done for.
I can't believe I'm in the quagmire of study when the holidays are on. Lips, beach, bourbon, nipples, rock and roll...it's ALL OUT THERE and I'm face down in books, rather than buttocks. What the hell, who needs a business degree. Maybe I'll switch to marketing and sell the world instead of trying to own it.
Enough drivel. Time to get down (ironically) to business:
1. Finish diploma.
2. Take a four month break. Maybe five.
3. Work my ass off...sell a bunch of guitars.
4. Build Tori's guitar.
5. Buy that Firebird.
6. Road trip with the biker bitches.
7. Write those songs.
8. Get that band.
9. Meet Elvis.
10. Fuckin' rock.
Start being a teenager at twenty-four...why not? The boy becomes part man, part pile of unwashed clothes and hormones. It's all uphill from here folks, hopefully at some ludicrous incline I can barely handle.
Yowza.
Double yowza.
VIEW 9 of 9 COMMENTS
[Edited on Jan 08, 2006 5:27PM]