tomorrow : n. : the day following today. hey hey, good bye, tomorrow wendy's going to die... these fumes are leaking from my bag, a bag that held my pants, pants that held paint stains, paint stains that held fumes. primer white on lego-brick red. shur-line brush, stains on my hands washed away in a tide of lacquer thinner. never was one to draw anything in a standard manner, and they say good try, tomorrow wendy, you are going to die... and perspective is not my strong suit at the best of times, even on a muggy day like this. pencil, then ink... I usually just ink, go at it until it works with brush and pen nibs, but we'll try it this way today, and see where it goes. real draftsman like. hey hey, good bye, tomorrow wendy's going to die... if you listen to something enough times you can pull the energy right out of it, and pull it down into yourself, and use it later. store it all up like a little battery, and use it when you need it. a capacitor of song, the soundtrack of our lives running through the backs of our skulls, and smiling as jacky's driving by, and as you go through the day little bubbles pop back up. god got his ass kicked the first time he came down here slumming. honest. you have all the time in the world. you do. really... all the time in the world to howl in the full rainbow of passions, screaming to the stars until your voice is harsh and broken, and you wake up sounding like kaluha and creame poured over broken glass. broken glass. broken glass. disjointed mind I do have, so it's so hard some times to get the sentances to come out in the right order, or use the right words, or get the drawing to come out in a straight line... hey hey, good bye, tomorrow wendy's going to die... it is amazing how long it takes to write these little words. to type them, click-clack-click-clack...I'd ask who wendy is but I am already on a quest for mary. a few have followed along for a spell, and we can make believe that kennedy is still alive, jumping along for a bit of a run on my quest but dropping off...sometimes I sit and look at the sky and wonder why. little mantra's. little mantra's. little mantra's. hey hey, good bye, tomorrow wendy's going to die... and they say, good try, tomorrow wendy you are going to die. tomorrow wendy is going to die. I told the priest, don't count on any second coming, god got his ass kicked the first time he came down here slumming...it really is a catchy song, catchy band all around, these concrete blondes. paint fumes and that buzz that can turn into insomnia, you all know what it's like, those who share genetic information with me. it must be genetic, this cycling into and out of the need or ability to hold proper sleep patterns...new song now.. colour scares me. I've been black and white for far too long... I've got the way's and means, to new orleans, I'm going down by the river where it's warm and green...