Wednesday, August 13, 2003

Fire On Crack he says. It looks like fire, but it's crazy and demented.

See, if I tried to draw like this, it would never work out. He laughs. It wouldn't look anything like that.

"You're poetry is great!" I haven't found a muse in a while "A muse?" Inspiration. "What? I'm not inpsirational enough?" I can't write the passionate poetry I used to. "What? No dark depression to suck the passion from?" Exactly.

This is okay... but I like your poetry much better he says, handing me back the sheet of paper.

What do you mean you can't sing? I heard you in the car. "My voice was drowned out by the music." "You've got a great voice! You should try and sing with... you know... people that sing." I look at him. There's nothing left to do but laugh.

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