Current look.
// “Still”—Some Shit Poetry by Me//
[Disclaimer: This is my shitty poetry. Nostalgia—I’ve moved on but the memories stick.]
Yes I kept the mug
And yes I kept the photos
Part of me still
(Still, is still, we were still)
Remembers when the grass was as green as the avocado in my sushi
Seersucker. Maroon. Freckles.
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I also miss the sex
(Let’s be honest—cosmic explosions of lust.)
Sorry about the sheets. They could be art.
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A move to the hood.
Upheaval of the little cabin we built.
Chainsaw to the wood.
Solitude.
Chopping. Body shopping.
(Still, it is still, I am still).
// Pregaming//
Here’s the playlist.
The Bad Touch-Bloodhound Gang
Party-Beyonce
Come On A Cone-Nicki Minaj
Satisfaction-Benny Benassi
Acapella-Kelis
Where Have You Been-Rihanna
Levels-Skrillex Remix—Avicii
Party Rock Anthem-LMFAO (sorry I’m not sorry)
Starry Eyed (Live at Amoeba)-Ellie Goulding
Titanium ft. Sia-David Guetta
I owe Marilyn Monroe a real debt …it was because of her that I played the Mocambo, a very popular nightclub in the ’50s. She personally called the owner of the club, and told him she wanted me booked immediately, and if he would do it, she would take a front table every night. She told him — and it was true, due to Marilyn’s superstar status — that the press would go wild. The owner said yes, and Marilyn was there, front table, every night. The press went overboard. After that, I never had to play a small jazz club again. She was an unusual woman — a little ahead of her times. And she didn’t know it.
(Source: zigazig-ah, via lipstickletters)
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