Light A George Clinton on Fire

Inhale.

Slowely exhale.

Flick.

Write:

Wish my mother's webcam worked. The one at her house here in St. Louis doesn't work correctly. Or the software is jittered. So I'll write.
About. Whatever I want to. I kind of take pride in my ability to shroud myself in my web of interests, personality traits, moods(almost always playful, humorous ones I promise) and ability to make the end user of my attention smile. But what happens when in the middle of this process my mind goes blank and I feel no obligation to even finish the thought.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Flick.

Write:

I can't wait to be back in LA. But I will have consequences. I haven't worked in two weeks. Food isn't cheap no matter what part of the country you are in. A bar isn't either. Talking to ex-lovers and would be ones isn't either. I have no intention of persuing either. I want her. And our first date caught me in the spoke of third wheel syndrome. She was too shy to see me alone. Understandable. But you're a fucking adult and I couldn't get a word in with your friend talking about how she's slept with more than one minor. That's disgusting. I want to give you what I can't give to just anyone. I'm bored, you interest me.

Exhale.

Exstinguish.

Write:

I hate that the music I love to create is so exploited it makes me sick. I have more talent in my sleep than they do with all the best producers riding on their testicles. I can't care about that. It will hinder my ability to be me. Thus I choose to branch out of what is familiar and learn new ways to express what keeps me awake at night. My soul, my drive, my life.

Tear off plastic.

Ignite.

Inhale.

Exhale quickly.

Write:

I need a hair cut. It's in my eyes, it's annoying. I like that it's gotten this long. It hasn't been this long in years. Probably at least 10 or so. My right thigh and ass is so sore. I went bowling, got drunk, hit on a girl, spilled beer on myself, didn't get her number, and woke up with a sore ass. What a night. It was perfect. I love my body. I'm tall, gauntish, skinny, but never akward. It's the anti-anti body. It's mine amd got the scars on my torso to prove it. I think I'll shave this half-ass goatee too. It's definitely not me. Maybe grow some sideburns instead...and wait for that soul patch to get darker.

Flick.

Inhale.

Exstinguish.

Exhale.

Retire this mode.