music for wordsmiths

So I left in a strange daze, slipped 3.16 (which is simultaneously the verse in john that all the hullubaloo is all about, the amount of change on a five for a cup of coffee at the place on the corner, and the birthday of my sister) into my pocket and stepped into the rain (more of a mist really) and turned on turned on the music that pulls words outwards from me (forms me) that turns and churns and rips the inside from my eyelids leaving broken bits of language, thought, rambles from the mud, ideas (sinister as clay pots) and urging me onward (there is no other way than this) and turn turns around�.windswept.
Got it?


2004-10-22 | 10:59 a.m.
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