gonna transition from rhythmic to drumming. fuck that shit, i can drum.
if i can't find the amazing drummer, i'll be one. arrhythmic poets are where it's at. you've got to have a feel for rhythm to break it, & to smash it together. so many boys/girls are so a-to-b, start-to-finish; it works but lacks the complexity i get cravings for.

the key, is to live to your music. if you are the drum, the bodies beat.
are we gods, or are we the reptile in our hindbrains? both.
humanity is not the poles, but the between.

bedding & sheets. i could get tangled up in yours, i like them, but i have to know that you want it, right where it hurts.
it's a waste to have a love in your bed otherwise, to have the image of what's desired, but to not feel it. feeling is where it's at.

some people edit for technical performance & structure, which i appreciate. aesthetics are important. i get a kick out of sweeping in & doing my work on the soul/heart of the piece. it is the sun. everything else, is just flowers & dark space.

richter gives me chills.

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boys are adorable.  i'm hard hitting on an edge in me & it's all my jazz standards in the shower, all lovely-resonant, & sudden midverse beatbox-rap thigh-slap-drums, wet rain grooves.

most words dissatisfy. most moods, too. burritos.
and this is where the guitar falls into my hands. sometimes song is just beautiful aggression.

i do think you're beautiful. do i have to tell you?