mark wrote:

As I said before, this journal will occasionally wander into the light of day (guns blazing) but only for a day & only with specific intent. I.e.. to post a poem. To fingerpaint with words. Or to advertise the darling of my darkening heart- mypetelegy (read first to last, please). But this entry's specific little raison d'etre (that always sounds like a snack to me! seriously. the french & their fucking trail mix contribution to language) is this: who wants to trade mix cd's with me? I am so SICK of choosing everything I listen to. Russel wants random. & If you send me something gorgeous I promise to send you the musical equivalent of my index finger in an envelope. Trust me. I give good mix. I have unstoppable stasi technique. I was taught to kill in the Catskills. & learned to you know. Not kill. In Los Angeles. & though I'm willing to go toes with anyone I'd of course prefer something from one of this journal's preferred customers. Also even if you're not inclined to start carving me something out of say distortion & juke box lullabies. Gas station ballerinas & murder-fuck bounce to this. It is my birthday on the 23. Five fucking days. All I want is more time. But no one can send me that. So send weapons. Or at least cards with sharp edges. Email if you need directions. This entry will self destruct in exactly 24 hours. Or less. Yes. Almost undoubtedly less.