bop writing

so here we go for a little of bop writing - my sort of therapy, says I to john o'leary, my old friend with whom i've just discussed the state of the cinema and we've ended up checking at whatever's screening at la filmo. the russian ark. awesome.

i may go.

in the meantime, i am chilling out with my cocktail of the day (6/8 cava, 1/8 martini, 1/8 granini orange juice... that's until i ran out and now i'm using orange acuarius), a cigarrette (the cigar this morning got me nauseous), interpol's our love to admire (after a pre noon ride into the past with the clash and the replacements), i am fully clothed, which is weird for me to write in, the new position of the table, windows wide open, and this little typing's already making me feel better.

gris is sleeping. by the octopuss. on my pillow. he kicks me out of my pillow every night.

oh. it's peace is the trick: women, you have no self control... me? not now, not at the moment. it's just, i am a little tired. and my life is about to change yet again, and i am tired. mmm. peace is the trick, i guess. follow whatever in the starswept night.