All I can say is that there was madness, in every direction if there ever was such a thing.. caught up between the nights of supposed living and the mornings of perpetual death.. the one thing that had equalized the situation; the sights and sounds ever evolving from those squeaky speakers that always tinned up when they were turned up. Random clutters and clangs from random faulty records that were bought on a whim for 1.19 at the local pawn shop that always seemed to be filled with such things..A perpetual pandora's box for the ones who never could tell what it was they were looking for and hid behind the usual dumb found reasons for a search.. some times when the clock would wind and the caps would twist off I'd sit and sing along, or hum, sometimes dance.. without ever moving a muscle ,just dancing in the back of my mind with this pair of eyes without a face.. sometimes I'd stare, sometimes they'd listen but mostly we just danced. ...It's funny what too many nights by yourself with nothing but the sound of your silent voice and the creaking yawl of that emtpy liqoured stained glass will do to you, especially when your mind is already weak from lack of sleep and inabaility to try.

But almost all current music is worthless, everything from the attempted regurgitations of what Rock and Roll used to be, and were some thing it left off makes me sick to my stomach, and mines not very weak. Whatever happened to creating.. something pure, unadulterated, seemingly without cause except meerly being written.. there's nothing left but memories and delusions and both hurt too much.  ¶ 9:20 PM