I like live recordings of bands' performances. When they slip up, talk into the mic, it feels like someone's there with me. It's nice.
Could have probably worded that one better. Here we go, take two, buckle my foot.
When I play guitar I let the stream of gushness gush out of me, and it's all about gash. I went to café gash last week, not this one, and I felt the vibes. Today I went to Mexican, and had cactus taco. She was really pretty. Barely spoke English. Said she was coping. I went up to "go to the bathroom" and as she was filling the coffee maker with water I snuck up and scared her. I said "HEY," "Donde esta el baño?" She turned around and said I scared her, which I thought was so sweet and cute and told me down the stairs. I felt twisted, when she was out there asking us what we wanted to eat she kept leaning over to talk to cousin Chris Malibu MD and her pink tank top didn't offer much of a cover. I stared at the middle part of her bra, what is that called, and her beautiful goosebumps glistening in the sun.
So I'm making an iMovie on imovie and it's uploading every video just fine, except for two specific ones which are crucial to the narrative. I'm telling myself not to get frustrated, because that's how you lose the girl, and it's true. Everytime I overthink something I hate it. How is it that my brain cockblocks itself? Is my brain not on the same boat as me? Am I not winging myself? I should probably stop thinking this before the brain gets upset.
I swallow a little bit of my own vomit. It hits my mouth, I hold back the acid. I'm like a slithery snake, slupring and squirming around ya shaking and squriming. No I'm not, I'm much more bold. Like a Rhyno.
