(manifest density)

My brain is a terricloth noose, convenient certainly but not really all that impressive when the cast of csi come crashing in on the last will and testament to a man whose spent so much time thinking about how little he actually thinks (coherently, at least) hours can easily become insufferable games of existential pinball with a hairtrigger tilt and too many goddamn multiballs spinning around nowhere at all with just enough speed to make them literate for a minute before they spiral off into the sunset of another workaday without so much as a picture to speak of sense memory.

It occurs to me this evening that interpol is a band i should've given a damn about. it occurs to me bjork's a lunatic that we all love for reasons that don't really ring true anymore. it occurs to me that ewan mcgregor does not equal an artisan of any timeless nature (even if the ladies have loved his jock since shallow grave when he played the miserable scottish bastard he always characterized so familiarly).

And it occurs to me that inspiration has not been all that forthcoming with my rat-a-tat tapping lately.

Though i suppose that much is evident.

I think i've been scouring all the wrong excess. i've been playing the old routine that worked when the days were dark and i stood unemployed and less desparate to make a name for myself. drink drank drunk. smoking haystacks of american spirit. jerking off. wasting mine.

I need an aesthetic arrest and i need to come back from it with a new perspective so i can lay away my dead.