missing mixtapes

i sit on the beach and remember the times when there was nothing a good mixtape couldn't solve.  manifestos are complicated now.  i can't even wrap up my thoughts into 90 minutes any more.  i don't think i know what i'm thinking now.  it's less lucksmith; and more grown up.

writers block

virginia already said it.  one needs a room of ones own.  i have a flat of my own, but not ambience.  no big desk with nice pens and some witty postcard from my lover.  if i had a big desk, and some moleskines, i think i'd finally write the novel.

stained glass

if you walk around our suburb long enough, staring at all the stained glass windows, they all start looking like genitalia. like every lead lighter in the northern suburbs was having some prank of making abstract penis' and vaginas and putting them on front doors behind picket fences and mailboxes.