hmmmm...what to say....not much. just that i think i'm gonna go now, it's been great, what can i say.....thanks for the time...if you really do care....then my other identity is 3oclock.....hope to see you there...

i live for steve mcqueen. i am a rebelious teenager borne of second hand smoke from fast cars and carbon exhausted freeways going to nowhere. the journey meaning everything. i am a man's steel guitar, made to be played, and run the distance from the neck to the head..the hole reaching down to the soul of rock and roll. i am danger and everything dangerous, slick pants, slick hair, and a motorcycle...rumbling tumbling, flat chested women playing music, making man. i am fake fur....big big big hair, big cars and loud sound. i am speakers, i am amplifiers...i am small town groupies settling down with fast men with quick hands. i am naked playing a fender, sea foam green for the fifties. but they say this is the eighties stevie baby so i'm bright red in my flaming wheels and american leather. i am going so fast i'm gonna out run this desert wasteland. feather soft is nothing to me, these jackets have to be hard. cause i like it fast. and furious and everything in between, where hollow meets the hole in somebody's accoustic. i drown. give me a big amp man. i gotta make it loud. wanna make it proud. i gotta voice, and i wanna be heard. so anybody listening out there? catch a grope...make some noise for me...cause nobody can get me now.....

i live for steve mcqueen. i am a rebelious teenager borne of second hand smoke from fast cars and carbon exhausted freeways going to nowhere. the journey meaning everything. i am a man's steel guitar, made to be played, and run the distance from the neck to the head..the hole reaching down to the soul of rock and roll. i am danger and everything dangerous, slick pants, slick hair, and a motorcycle...rumbling tumbling, flat chested women playing music, making man. i am fake fur....big big big hair, big cars and loud sound. i am speakers, i am amplifiers...i am small town groupies settling down with fast men with quick hands. i am naked playing a fender, sea foam green for the fifties. but they say this is the eighties stevie baby so i'm bright red in my flaming wheels and american leather. i am going so fast i'm gonna out run this desert wasteland. feather soft is nothing to me, these jackets have to be hard. cause i like it fast. and furious and everything in between, where hollow meets the hole in somebody's accoustic. i drown. give me a big amp man. i gotta make it loud. wanna make it proud. i gotta voice, and i wanna be heard. so anybody listening out there? catch a grope...make some noise for me...cause nobody can get me now.....

where the hell did the angel headed hipsters go anyway? were they fucked into oblivio, slitting their pretty wrists while riding the insane wave of a dreaming orgasm? were they thrust into impromptu lonliness, their words jet lagged, catching a cab on the fifth avenue, nine to five, slipping and slippery, bountiful and clean, coming home from recovering the satelites? alive and undistinguishable from the rest of these parishiners, what pew do they take? are they sitting in front of me, sated and sure of only living and dying, and they sacherine sweet taste of diet pepsi, and french cigars in the morning after? or better yet are they the priests, standing behind totems of dignity, rearanging themselves in the mirror of sanity, they stand behind book ledgers while sweet angels give them blow jobs, and leave notes in their socks? are these lovers invincible to oleander? can i plead with poison, watch as they lie in quaint bathtubs of oil and vodka, drained and complete, forging ties with men who break bonds for a living? becoming...

hmmm....it's so fucking hot here....i so wish i could do something about this.....