The wind smells like pumpkins. The flesh, the pie - both aspects of the character of 'pumpkin'. Fall is here, kids. A new season. And I ma very well have a new band. Jammed with Tim today. Musically, we seem to mesh well. Neither of us are virtuosos, and we both even seem to have the same neurotic dispensation when it comes to our talent and taste. Liz is going to be an interesting factor in this whole equation. She seems to be obsessed with pornography, from what I've seen around their apartment. Porn and sex. Whoot, I guess. While I'm still flying high on rock and roll, I should go for a run. Yeah. Y was packed this afternoon. No thanks grunting, sweaty, ill-mannered jock heads, I would rather not share air with you today. No thank you.
- Later -
I watched Mortal Kombat tonight, the first time in a long time. Wow - it's certainly not as cool as I remember. And Christopher Lambert as Rayden? Are you kidding me? Ah well - the Canuck priests were certainly enjoyable. Oh, yeah. We'll see how my writing keeps up with Tim's contributions to the creative process. Who knows - maybe this partnership will send my muse through the roof. Rock and roll + hovel + young person living + one miserable son of a bitch (yours truly) + Tim = magic? Only time will tell. What I can at least hope for is an equation/scenario like this:
John Bonham wound up playing for the Talking Heads, but not in 1975. The year is 1985, and the Heads are from Chicago, not New York. Ron Ashton plays guitar for them. There is no bass player. The trio isn't working out so well, so Bonham and Ashton fire David Byrne. They go on to destroy Chicago, settling a decades-long bet with Prairie Farms.
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