Music, Fishing, Eating coffeemate with a spoon, talking to cat, animals, wishing I was a vet. dancing with eyes closed, not making sense, laughing at my own jokes, flying dreams, Salman rushdie, Mark's voice, when the random light bulb fits, life imitating art, doing pretentious lists, having the flu, coffee and cigarettes, fat little notebooks, old leather wallets, human anatomy, buying books like A practical guide to molecular cloning, little signs, giraffes, airports, finding my keys, googling everything, perpendicular tidying, the other side of the pillow, cars running on vegetable oil, the little flower shop on my way to Sally's, bonzai trees, world maps, big magnets. People who get me, people that I get. Stuff. Book shops. Orion's belt. Travelling. Mythology. Horses. Owning a ranch. Thinking about thinking. Worrying about random stuff. Getting massages. Atoms, Molecules, Learning about how stuff is made. Movies, concerts. microscopes. telescopes. Life.
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn burn burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars....J kerouac
led zeppelin
me you and everone we know
sucks
...so many books....
and villains