so i've got my hands on the raconteur's albumn. GOD DAMN THAT SHIT IS RIGHTOUS. a fucking dirty ass guitar lick after lick like the best kind of sex on the market and if i can't get it where i'm at i've got an apt substitute.
man makes me feel like that night me and couple of friends hit up that blues bar and the bartender was being snobby-ass dick. well there's only one thing to be done and joe did it. he follwed him down the stairs and acted like he was going to the can. when the bartender left the glorious overflowing stockroom he caught the door and snuck on in and grabbed a couple bottles of jack. and though i feel jack's a bit played out and not as potent as say a dewars or turkey rye or what the fuck's the name of that great irish shit i loved? some sort of tear drop...at least that's what my mind's thinking. dellamore dew or something. man that shit's potent. of course there was nothing like delliahla's on a tuesday and getting shots of maker's mark for a bone. oh dear god for a straving broke college student i enetered heaven. no matter how packed that joint got i wriggled squeezed and pushed myself to the bar and got me a spot like an eager fan at his favorite band's show. and i sat there for the next five hours only talking to lovely ladies when they put a dollar in my juke. god damn this non sequitar has a great feeling.
"i stake my life and i swear by this knife that it's all by your design enough's been said it goes round in my head till i break down and cry. i wouldn't be surprised if that look in your eyes was your way of saying good-bye. can we call it a day would that be okay can we just go our own seperate ways cause i'm cold and i'm wet and i'm willing to bet that you constructed this maze." now that is poetry folks. god damn fucking vital all on a grumpy dirty bluesy rift with a nice thick and juicy bass tied together by drums getting their anger in like fists being thrown against a wall by an aganst crazy fellow somehow and get this throwing them in a steady rythmn. please help the girl i meet next because here's the sound track to my next love affair. and i'll go, i;ve been there... so let's see another crisp summer night getting head in the subway tunnel by a woman desperate for your affecton and the lust pouring out every pore never mind the group of people waiting just on the other side of the barrier because drunkenness was once heavenly(-ness? HA in that al pacino sort of way). this record makes me want to shout out SATISFACTION!!!! yeah let's get bad and dirty and fuck to manson song that says something like i'm going to fuck till somebody better comes along singing it one girl while downstairs another girl pines for you and tries to decipher thorught the creaks and moans some secret message with a promise of love forever boldy tattoed on forearm in all sharp vibrantness of kitch.
ahh. that's relieving. i was trying to write outside to get my daily word exercise so i'll be in shape when it's time to etch my masterpieces but the damn mosquitoes were ravaging my skin.
anyway kids peace and sweeter dreams,
chris
man makes me feel like that night me and couple of friends hit up that blues bar and the bartender was being snobby-ass dick. well there's only one thing to be done and joe did it. he follwed him down the stairs and acted like he was going to the can. when the bartender left the glorious overflowing stockroom he caught the door and snuck on in and grabbed a couple bottles of jack. and though i feel jack's a bit played out and not as potent as say a dewars or turkey rye or what the fuck's the name of that great irish shit i loved? some sort of tear drop...at least that's what my mind's thinking. dellamore dew or something. man that shit's potent. of course there was nothing like delliahla's on a tuesday and getting shots of maker's mark for a bone. oh dear god for a straving broke college student i enetered heaven. no matter how packed that joint got i wriggled squeezed and pushed myself to the bar and got me a spot like an eager fan at his favorite band's show. and i sat there for the next five hours only talking to lovely ladies when they put a dollar in my juke. god damn this non sequitar has a great feeling.
"i stake my life and i swear by this knife that it's all by your design enough's been said it goes round in my head till i break down and cry. i wouldn't be surprised if that look in your eyes was your way of saying good-bye. can we call it a day would that be okay can we just go our own seperate ways cause i'm cold and i'm wet and i'm willing to bet that you constructed this maze." now that is poetry folks. god damn fucking vital all on a grumpy dirty bluesy rift with a nice thick and juicy bass tied together by drums getting their anger in like fists being thrown against a wall by an aganst crazy fellow somehow and get this throwing them in a steady rythmn. please help the girl i meet next because here's the sound track to my next love affair. and i'll go, i;ve been there... so let's see another crisp summer night getting head in the subway tunnel by a woman desperate for your affecton and the lust pouring out every pore never mind the group of people waiting just on the other side of the barrier because drunkenness was once heavenly(-ness? HA in that al pacino sort of way). this record makes me want to shout out SATISFACTION!!!! yeah let's get bad and dirty and fuck to manson song that says something like i'm going to fuck till somebody better comes along singing it one girl while downstairs another girl pines for you and tries to decipher thorught the creaks and moans some secret message with a promise of love forever boldy tattoed on forearm in all sharp vibrantness of kitch.
ahh. that's relieving. i was trying to write outside to get my daily word exercise so i'll be in shape when it's time to etch my masterpieces but the damn mosquitoes were ravaging my skin.
anyway kids peace and sweeter dreams,
chris
jordan:
stolen jack is awesome. way to go. 
