That's the song I am listening to right now, by The Lovemakers. Anyway, dead tired, young and sick, exhilarated by my boredom. My room is a controlled mess that seems to be looming over my head. Actually, it's not that bad. I can't wait until the humdrum, mundane, and irrelevant things actually become interesting to me. I'm thinking of another tattoo. I think it has been about a year, and that is when the itch gets severe. I was thinking a tiny skull under my left eye. Or maybe a third eye, but not on my forehead, on my chin, that way if I get tired of it then I just don't have to shave. Same band, new song: Is It Alright?
I like pistachios. Courtney Love looks like one of the Olsen twins, you know the one who looks like she is on heroin. A painting still leans against the wall, haven't hung it up yet. The blankets on my bead hate each other. My athlete's foot is gone. Four empty bottles and a coke can. Shoes stepping on each other. Lonely pens and pencils, they have each other but difficult access to paper. I just realized I have a chandelier in my room, très chic.
Bonne nuit, dormez bien, et laissez aller votre imagination folle!