Rolling Stone

Back for another round. Mixing and weaving. I don’t talk like I think, and I don’t write like I care. If I knew what to say, I would, so I have to mumble until I get the basics all figured out. Sometimes you never know how you will deal with Stuff until you find them staring at you. Sometimes the things that are Always on your Mind could give a shit about their location.
And all the time the world turns and the lamps burn and the hearts race and the night has its quite moans and screamed obscenities and the dirty filthy naughty lust filled pure love that can still bite you so fucking hard that you shake and strain with the pleasure of the surprise. Surprise. Not knowing what is next. Finally getting it wrong. Finally not having the answer already in your face.
If only it could all be so simple. Ignorance combined with intensity and wanting, sprinkled with style and wit. Bake for twenty and call me in the morning. But we know that that morning is a busy signal. That morning is a Monday. That morning is rent due and gas tank empty and pile-ups on the highways. But later, after the morning has broken and the that which is due is made right…
What of the Night?
Flick off the mind. Just in Time. Strobes in the brain. Lick the Pain.