Tastes like unbrushed teeth, anger, longing and frustration. Hollywood is still covered with fog and the creepy creeping prenotion that something is wrong in this world. Something is mightily wrong. I think I am crazy but maybe I'm not. What the fuck. I can have really good sex with myself, smoke a cigar into the fugged up night, smile at the sight of two lonely lights in the Capitol Records tower shimmering troublesomely through the clouds that lay down on the streets, grey in grey.
I can like my life like that, even if I realized just a couple of moments prior to that, that what I really like is a campfire and peace of mind. I like to long into the starbright night. Think of someone to come, one nice day.
I don't like it how it is now. I don't like that i know you it takes away the sweet romantic longing dreams.
I don't like you being a complete egotistical selfabsorbed asshole who will never answer any of my questions except for they are about the weather and practical things. Anything exceeding that is killed and massacred in the very fist fetus state. I am sick of the songs that you kind of hinted would speak for you. I want you to speak up.
I don't like that I don't know what is right or wrong and I don't like to think that my heart has all answers ready if I just were ready to listen. Fuck that too. I don't want to know. I want to find what I am looking for OUTSIDE of myself. Okay? Shit.
I don't like that the most lovely and charming man that has crossed my path in a long time still is in love with me and asked me yesterday night again where I'm standing at. Completely respecting and understanding my state of mind. Well, what can he do. He's been trying to cope with it since almost one and a half years. Isn't that something. And there I go hanging on to this ghost of our love that still haunts me like a motherfucker.
Yes, the morning after, so mingled with a fierce sense of frustration.
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