(this is parade music) (good grade music) (party like you just got paid or got laid music)

I'm on fire.
I'm listening to hip hop and pop punk, and look at my face... does it look like I care that you act like you're "better" than me?
I'm dancing, at 11:11 am, I'm dancing in my goddam bedroom, swinging my blonde whore hair like nobody's watching because nobody's watching. And it's freeing. And it's cathartic. And I worked so hard.
I love my job. And opportunity. And friendship so genuine you feel like family, thick, thicker, thickest. Blood. Not water. And finally I'm out of the hell hole - almost out - almost there. And I can breathe. FInally breathing. Finally waking up and moving on, and dancing late.
Like old times.
After she'd call. Remembering when I'd hold the phone to the speaker so she could hear the music. Hear them singing to muffle out that fucking drip.
Drip.
d - R I P.

I just want to party and have fun. So I'm going to party and dance and have fun.
I don't have my words tonight. Not tonight. THey're not here.
And I'm thinking, I still have work to do... get the fuck off itunes.
If you never noticed before - it's a pattern - my best pieces of writing are during awfully stagnant periods. But not now. Not when the fire's raging and I'm neck deep in projects, then the words are on the back burner, until another one of those sad and lonely afternoons... then again, the words will find me, and help me be.
I don't need my words right now.
Get the FUCK off itunes.

Oh music. OHhhhh sweet music. For without you I would not be me. Writing would be my meat, but without music it'd be dry.
What's a piece of meat if it ain't wet?

At least I still got sexual innuendo.

"Easy on the booze," Daddy says. "Easy on the booze."
I'm not even drinkkkkkkking!

xo
Sober Lo