bless-ed kate. she's putting up with me while i'm drunk. drunk for artistry's sake, y'know - i'm only doing it so i can write. i sense the wry-ness-ness of you, dear anna T. aha, you say, and proceed to deliniate the reasons (modus operandi) of why (the explanations, dearest) my writings make no sense and do not appeal to your sense of written art, of written perfection, of written brilliance! they don't, in short, because they are the products of a chemically altered conciousness. the likes of which has not been seen around here since last month. and that was cause bekki was here and i was wracked of nerves.



love.



you better believe me when i say it, punk...



oh yeah. NY Dolls. Pills...



except in my case it's



al-kee-hall.