Here comes the sun. My eyes, my eyes, my eyes!

I'm not sure, but I don't think I slept at all last night, which happens every couple of weeks.

Ummmm, am I still here?

Ok, just checking.

I think my mind is playing tricks on me.

It's ok though, we're friends, and uh, oh look, ladies and gentlemen it's 60s/70s, British/French, sex symbol Baby Jane Birkin.

This is way too hard, and I don't mean in a good way.

It's obvious I haven't found my groove yet.

But wait, just you wait, one of these days I'm going to make your head explode from a what the fuck did he just write moment, unless, yeah, unless ...

Sometimes I get lost, but I usually wind up getting found, and other crappy titles that I have written.

Man, it's like a quarter after twelve and I can't keep my eyes open.

And I wish I could sing, or talk without stuttering when I have something important to say.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all.

Or maybe this wasn't an idea at all.

Or maybe.

Or maybe not.

Do you see what I mean?

Yeah, this could be more difficult than I expected.

I got a cat.

So, ok, I got a cat about a year and a half ago because the gold fish kept dying and the parakeets were exceptionally boring.

And he's a good cat.

And he calls me Kenny.

And I call him Boo.

And he likes to sleep about twenty hours a day.

And he likes to sleep on my head about two hours a day.

And sometimes I let him.

And son of a bitch if I turn this into a cat blog.

And I'm not.

And I mean it.

And I just wanted to let you know I had a cat in case you see a cat hair or two somewhere between the two ns in the ennui of the grand ennui.

One more time.

Ok, so, blogger has an iPad app, so I guess ill give it a try, because I'm all about trying, and you never know what's going to happen, am I right? You know I'm right, so, here I am, at least for today.

Getting mellow like Maria Bello.

So, last night I watched a movie with Maria Bello, and by the way, doesn't she have great feet, and I don't mean nice feet, or really nice feet, I mean she has really great feet ...
But yeah, I was watching this movie with Maria Bello, and she was playing this sexually dysfunctional type lady that she plays so well, yeah, dysfunction is an art form with her ...
And anyway, she ended up dieing in the movie, but she was ok with that, actually, she was more than ok with that, she was absolutely euphoric with that.
And Jason Patric was the guy who killed her, oh, I didn't mention that she was murdered, did I, just that she died ... euphorically.
Yeah, Jason Patric killed her, but he loved her too, and he killed her because he loved her, because she wanted to die, and he felt that was the least he could do for her, and I swear to god that Jason Patric has matured into a horribly misshapen man since he was one of the lost boys, and if you don't believe me just do a google image search.
Finally, Rufus Sewell was Mario Bello's husband, and there really isn't much to say about him except that he has a truly awesome name, and if I could change my name, I would most definitely change it to Rufus Sewell, or better yet I'd change it to Rufus "Boz Man" Sewell.
Yeah.

Like some cat from Japan

Holy shit, it's October already, and I'm typing in the dark, and I've got so little to say, and is it too late to be a rock and roll star, or the voice of my generation, or a cowboy with a big white hat.



Do you feel like dancing, I mean yeah, I can get out the mixed tape you made for me with Blister in the Sun on it, and yeah, we can pretend it's the eighties, if that's what it will take, ok, I mean OK!

Not so true blood

Fuck the rain.



I wonder how much I could get for a kidney, or the rights to my life story, or the lies that I've told, not that I've told any, but you know, I would, if I could sell them, yeah, I'd do that.
Would you?
Who cares?


Hey, get back here, I'm not done with your skinny ass yet.



The seventies weren't really all that bad.

Projectile blogging II

I'm not too pleased with that last post I made.
I'm taking my mulligan.



It's really hot and stuffy tonight and my computer sounds like it's going to explode, and yeah, my fingers are having problems finding the right keys, and I'm right here, sitting in front of the computer screen, trying to squeeze a few more words out, and FUCK, my arms hurt, but I'm not going to talk about that, yeah, don't even ask me about my arms, leave them the fuck out of this, what, huh, still???
I'm flipping through my ipod searching for the perfect song to fit this not so perfect mood, but nothing yet, just a lot of jangly guitars when I need a throbbing pulsating beat, or a throbbing pulsating cock, and I'm not capable of either one, doobie, doobie doo,
I could puke at any moment.