i've really got nothing new to report.
i think i may actually be doing it wrong.
like, for serious, even.
two days of doo-doo buttery workplace worktimes,
forcing the fresh, hard, loud-type sh!t to flow from my fingertips
down into the tattbombing buzzers and springs,
so that other people can leave happily sporting pictures on 'em?
tiring, uninspiring, hard-styling, and defiling all the parts.
there are workdays and there are worst days,
and sometimes, like all of these times,
those days are all the same days.
they aren't all brutal gaytard imbeciles.
actually i've been doing some fairly tolerable pieces.
of course i didn't take any pictures.
a documented record of the things i do for money isn't advisable.
hookers don't need a picture of every john that F*s 'em, do they?
i'm just sayin'...
well, i disagree, kids.
i'm happy to forget the flavorful zip-zaps i stick and poke into people.
the lion's share of each day isn't spent spanning time on exposed skin.
no point in dwelling on it, then, y'know?
there's word-eating, book-reading going on,
and cigar-car-riding with the accompanying guitar'ded noise
of a slew of miserably similar-sounding lousy singers,
with pitiful pitch, and powerful lyrics an' sh!t.
there's nothing new.
just more of all the same old busted barbarian business.
time takes time, i guess;
never quiet, never soft.....