But this is me, still picking through a haze of Bacardi shots and a man named Jim Beam shaking my hand/head. Who knows what emotions belong where, or whatever. When they're all unassigned and free, roaming through my fingertips to the keyboard like a lost kid in a giant mall, grasping for father figures, pegging emotions that may not be true or at least recognizing desire that is normally repressed, it's invigorating or at least something deliciously alien.
Tricky - Ghetto Youth is one of the most worthless songs ever. No, you reading this, don't fire up Napster and snag it. It's seriously useless and a waste of your time. If you get through the whole track, e-mail me and I'll give you a fucking star sticker.
Hello, Jack. Speaking for the cohorts, we're sorry we haven't been in your neck o' the woods just yet, but plans are in the works. And you'll win either way, because if you're here, you'll get to venture on a road trip and enjoy it, or if not, then we shall be visiting. Who is "we"? Many more people than just what you might consider your main friends. How exciting, no?
Janine, I drink you up.
If you were the baltic sea, and I were a cup, uh-huh.
All through my head today. Pity I know no one named Janine but a random customer at work. She sent the wheels in motion for that song like 20 good samaritans pushing a broken-down Bible vendor.
remix me, somebody.
Make me want to shake some ass, make me new and improved and at a new low price, and compare to Jared! J'ed will make you leap higher, run faster, shiver with stimulants and sleep deeper than an alcoholic-slammed sleep, simmering in non-REM and hangovers.
Water would be nice. Good day.