The iced tea sweats dewdrops in long clean lines while crackling ice settles within. I stare at the frosty white sheet of cheap lined paper lying flat on the table before me, pen poised to write it all down, everything. But my hand won't move to make any words. It's as marble still as a statue. The silence softly nets over me like a coccoon, and I willingly sucuumb to a numbing vacuum of safety...
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
prudence:
heh- sun ra, eh? now, i happen to love the guy (who wouldn't?), and under normal circumstances i would be happy to play a little, but it isn't technically my show. it's someone else's and he's just letting dj half of it. he doesn't care for that kind of jazz, and it would kind of clash with the feel of the rest of the show, you know? also, since i am only doing half of it (i.e. an hour and a half), time restraints force me to choose shorter songs in order for me to make the most of it!
prudence:
p.s. nice attempt at sublimin-able (bush sic) messages! you don't want that beach towel- it's been used often, and is pretty beat up. besides that, being a stereolab fan myself, there's no way in hell i'm gonna give it to you! got it?!