i got drunk at lunch, and I'm now filled with the self righteous fire that only a drunk can feel. and so, if I'm right, and most of this is read postmortem, then please let them publish this:
in this the age of face book and global warming, of change and familiarity, there lived a man who didn't give a fuck. who drove a forty year old Cadillac, drowning polar bears and doing illegal drugs.
who loved like there was no tommorow, and dreamed like there was no today.
he drank and smoked things that would kill him, and tried to love women who would not remember his name, grinning sarcastically the whole time, all because he could not think of a better way to spend his time.
he spoke in rhyme and wrote in haste, because to him time always seemed shorter than he thought. and at the end of the day, he probably wouldn't have had it any other way. so hes got that going for him too. it is tomorrow that makes today special.
so yeah.
hes a fool in love, an emcee for free, and a writer in hopes of making some of it make sense. and if anyone has a problem with that ill step on your fucking neck. that's my word.
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