a white noise and a wholly unremarkable, quiet breathing.
I've come back to say a few things. Tonight I pan fried my steak
and I burnt the blue fuck out of it. I listened to this album thirty
something times over and then I masturbated chronically,
wishing that John Holmes were still "doing it his way".
It's so seedy. I feel like an animal. But my soul is clenching.
It feels so fucking good.
Maybe I'll drink myself to death.
Okay, so I cracked a window, the smoke cleared, I did the dishes, I sat at my computer and contemplated success. I wrote emails and kissed a lot of ass, and then I wrote more emails.
It was nice to be home; I've been in that huge city for weeks.
I absolutely, love