I have some lemonade in front of me sitting on my desk. It’s the expensive kind that’s fresh squeezed, from a popular LA restaurant, Lemonade. It’s not mine, I stole it from the fridge. I wrote, “I took the lemonade – Andrew” on the whiteboard and went back to my room. I needed it for chaser for the little bit of Ciroc left over from yesterday when Levi I and filmed my little Roast Myself Diss Track outside in the backyard.
“It’ll have the simplicity of all the shots in the backyard, with our creativity and enthusiasm making up for it in the editing and different angles, making do with what we got.”
Kind of how The White Stripes make do with their limited instruments, Jack White still manages to create music that saves people. It’s 1:53am on a Monday night and I’ve been reading and writing all day. I’ve been writing a bunch, just not here. This blog is meh. I prefer it that way. I never want there to be a point. Classic, Catcher in the Rye-Esque, Stream of Consciousness. Creative Writing. Aimless Words. Morning Pages. Whiny and indulgent.
I had one of those heroin naps today. The type that Louie C.K. describes as, “Deep African sleep, like it’s just an ancient.. mysterious..submerged.. in a river of warm chocolate and sleep was like a goddess whore just sucking me off and she’s a got a gold helmet and forty tongues and she’s speaking in a dead language and she’s feeding syrupy heroin into my penis while she’s sucking ‘uuh let this be my life please this be real’ “DADDY WAKE UP!””
It was nice, I woke up feeling good. My brain tissue felt repaired and reset. Hot tubby and calm. I made some coffee and ate a chocolate donut.
Thanks For Reading,
Los Angeles, CA