Thursday, September 30, 2010

strung out sucking sweatshirts...

Super peace.

Don't fall down the stairs of your loft.
Your loft house.
Loft bed.
Loft store.
Loft shop.
Loft boutique.

What you going to buy at Chrissy's
boutique? A bag my Mother made? A zine Steven made?
A sprocket Ted made? A photo zine Nuzzi made?
A painting Porter made? A multimedia experience RK made?
A CCU record? A painting I made? A video Steven made?
A CD RK made? A mixtape Alan made? A lamp Jason made?
Socks my Grandma made? A fountain Coca-Cola.

Don't fall down the stairs of your loft.

This is love.

Is this love?

I texted my brother.

He texted me back.

I wrote on the hollerboard.

B bring EM said,

"i wish they were naked"

Last night I road my BMX it had ben too long.
(less then a week.)

Over the curb, bump on the sewer cap, bounce into
the street.

I did this thing I always chickened out on doing
and then I said, meow meow.

Haha. I mean I did it so slow. I was like, "omg wow, lolw"

Looking in the windows, looking for a job.

Looking online, writing wiggling wring'd.

Then, I wrote this sick song... while recording it.

I wonder what Bjork is doing right now?

I hear a school bus?

Birds are chirping.

Let's check the weather.

East cCoast flash flood watch.

Partly cloudy and 70. No problem.
No problem at all.

I called in sick, cuz I am.

Sick of work.

Hahha. Hahha.

What if my Dad came home from work and just
punched me in the face?

Haha. Haha.


So strung out sucking sweatshirts...
waiting for wut what wut...
cut khaki's and sunk into your flesh like...
cut khaki's and sunk into your flesh, flesh.