i can't get any love in this motherfucker language has not failed me yet will it ever this schizophrenic taking down a last will and testament farting over gourgeous piano vibes wonderful wonderful can't but speak how wonderful it is play it again sam you twit fuck shit balls i can't escape my own mind wonderful breaks ah there a rush a breath a nice little lift of a drink of water unbelievable the way it comes in with the slack and then out the motor not failing wonderful can't begin to describe end of all things cutting off too abruptly always in too deep and then they leave you you know? can't send the messages all mixed up always at the wrong time 9 in the morning no the right time to send a love letter they'll never know it was you don't worry you were watching steve mcqueen in that caper movie thomas crowne affair remade recently but not as good can't really capture the vibe of that "windmills in my mind song" oh bother it's not time yet the drunkard hasn't even paid all the saucers stacked up in the well-lit place, bartenders aching to go home to a soft mattress and the folds of a wife wonderful sleep always itch for sleep redundancies and chastizations do i send it do i ask for love there is nothing returned you are aware of that correct? can't even write anything anyone else can read sorrow and pity forthcoming sherman's march fucker i wish the thing has been hammered out in multiple dimensions the folds not coming near enough to entrap me forgetting the symbols surrounding me the people and the colors forgetting all of that to try the voice to exercise once more in that hypnotic state a sort of thing that makes you want to blow your fucking brains out maybe that is a little much but you get the picture of where you have to be to write stuff like this so constrained to the self and its voice to complain about the pain in a finger or in the liver, maybe when the beddy-byes go i will be better, hunters gracchuses, phoebes and phenomes and phermones, pleasing me pleasing me underscore the things dump down into sadness trace the moods that is what you are paid to do brain can you hear me speaking when it is time to go i will tell you we will get in the van and depart the holy family athletic facilities, dump down duck down goose, blow up your whole era. relax and take notes, playing the beat backwards then the needle drop crossover epmd always stealing from other people copyright is a dirty word when will the song begin again harping over and over and over again in the twilight of the modern world songs that's all we got left playing at my black and white keyboard playing the piece "Peace" tommy flanagan played it better that means nothing to you then look it up and look up the chase vs the hunt as it's mentioned in on the road that is a good waste of time well spent harping over and over again still this unbelieveable residual energy this stamina that i don't know comes from where i don't quite understand how i got to this place must have crossed a few too many bridges probably somewhere by the ni or the po river look those up to the results are always edifying i love how this thing works never the right time women still untimely as usual but trying to get along better with that writing in this note form but that is ok too everything ok even the people i hate and have horrible visions of that's ok too it's all ok everyone and everything is ok i won't harbor hate or at least i'll try maybe it is this vibraphone music that is intoxicating me they knew they hated me but they couldn't tell why well i'll tell you it's because i'm not as beautiful as dostoyevsky well whatever i will never be so good as that so you might as well stop here and stop trying because there is no end to it is like the femme nikita it never really ends cigarette in mouth it never really ends wish there was more to say that could be understood, autocratic rhythms.