You may tire of me as our December sun is setting, 'cause I'm not who I used to be. No longer easy on the eye, but these wrinkles masterfully disguise the youthful boy below. Who looked your way and saw something he was not looking for - both a beginning and an end. But now he lives inside someone he does not recognise, when he catches his reflection on accident.
The short Chicago imps are in the country, and I am stuck here. Alas, that is how it must be. I couldn't afford to get up to see 'em, and I would have been severely out of place amongst the throngs of screaming adolescent girls. Plus I often wonder if the subtlety and irony of their music flies over the heads of many of their "fans". Ah well, no matter. Another time, that is an oath.
Struggling to get my brain to work today. I am in an unreasonably dumb mood. Like some tricksy little elf climbed into my brain through my ear while I was sleeping and stole some of my IQ. Like he stole the strong-points of my intellect - the creative verve and imaginative swagger - then hitch-kicked his way out the other ear with his loot in a bag labelled "The CL's stock-in-trade". Cheeky little bastard. If I can hunt him down tonight - feigning sleep and ready to strike - perhaps I can salvage some of the brilliance he has so clearly stolen from me. If I find any damage has been done to any of my intelligence then I will sue for property damage. That shit's worth a lot of money to a number of people. I'm a precious commodity.
I feel like I should give a shout out to you, Freckle. You are still an integral part of all this. Don't forget me over there. And to the rest of you: I hope the sky is full of sunshine and that you're all feeling hopeful. The year is still young and our lives are ready to explode. Let's get it on.
What ever happened to the screw-loose geniuses in the arts?
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