For somebody who's coaxing me to write stuff, even the most minute words every day, I tell you, knock your socks off. Or just wear them while we MOMOL (make-out, make-out lang she says).
I'm the most-shallowest-person I know. So I have insecurities when it comes to writing, and being deep, and reflective and yadda yadda yadda. I adore you for being yourself, the worry-wart, the reader, the thinker, the clown, the funny face, the girl. I could 'print screen' my workstation and you'll never know the difference between cyborgs and the pirate captain left hook.
Bob the Bob wants to be in a beach hut on the weekend. He says he has music for moods, those from the dub era, where beats were slowed down, and multiplied back. That's enough sonic space for the future.
On the other hand, DeeDee the punker wants to take stills of stairs.
While Brucey, the big Brusko, insists on putting cute tiny umbrellas on slinger shakers, then picturing them ooohhh-la-la.
These are mighty fine senseless thoughts.
Greetings from Aruba.
PS. I left my body at work.
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