Rambling on rather self consciously while I'm stirring these condiments into my tea and I think I'm so lame that I think this blog is about me don't I don't I don't I?

Andrew (slight). I want a bowl of fire. He had one, but dispersed it; scattering ashes of jazz musicians across the US, I'm sure. Now he's in a lull with no 'cello or traps. Oh well. He can still fiddle around pluck pluck pluck.

I also want you and smooth skin and green eyes. I want blockoftext after blockoftext for you to run said green eyes over; watch text swim slightly, eyes crinkle lips crinkle (crackle, maybe? chapped-no-more).

Today, I will do laundry. Clean clothes clean sheets clean comfortor. I will work on Guernica. I will clean room. I will play videogames. I will do something about this excess of quarters I seem to have accumulated.

I will also smile and kiss you when you're not looking.

/b/