This is what I need now . . . the crazy over the top energy of System of a Down . . . don't even want to type, just wan' ta fling my arms up and thrash, flail them like a not-goin'-to-f'ing-drown-man. Fling my sore arms up like a wheelchair-bound dancer at a dance. Fired-up fuel atop water. Pumped-up prequel to turntable night, 10 PM-2 AM, but I'm not dressing tonight to go lump to boom, bust & echo this first sunday nite . . . I'm not that scenic, and i'm not post-evolve.

I may have new neighbours below (& above?) but I've been in this built longer than any other current. Will they complain? Am I really that loud? My phone ringers are off. Even if Fredericton's finest came I wouldn't hear them ring the "bell" (which isn't a bell, but wired into my telephone and fax machine) at the the front door.

T:
loc: recovery
temp: 15 C
sand: System of a Down, Steal this Album