i want to do a drum solo, but i ain't good enough.
i want to speak for my fellow man but i ain't got the stuff.
so you can see my dilemma.
let's pause right here, if only to call into account a strange occurence i just endured. i laid my cigarette down in the ashtray, just to type something, and when i returned to claim the last drag, no less than two butts were in there, w/ fully formed cherries. i chose the least bent.
and then i got writer's eye.
that's when yr lookin down at yr work and the smoke is getting endlessly in yr eye.
- sometimes when you light a cigarette, it feels like a fuse -
i was just there,
and now i'm here,
and next i could be anywhere.
it's like yr counting the fuck down.
let's move on.
i just dropped my cigarette in my guitar.
cages.
sweet tobacco pie.
i put a spell on you (j. hawkins)
i've been thinking a lot about the strange places people live.
