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The Tough Talk - 5.2 |
Johnny Himself - 09/15/99 00:24:00
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You got some delusions, Westport. You sound light on your feet.
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I think you are my brother, Johnny. We have something in common.
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Funkomatic Johnny in the Coupe DeVille on the road to Barahona. Smoking cigarettes with the low-riding houngan after the death of Zhe-zelle in Haiti.
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I'm so glad I came here.
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It's images now. This place is trendy. Does everyone have to do it? I prefer Nahuatlan to html.
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I was previously in here as Hoosier Daddy, but from now on it's my real name. I am here to say that this is some low-level tough talk.
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This morning a boy came in with a 13-foot stepladder and
cleaned the skylight, inside and out. Soon, through the
sweet smoke, I see the helicopters I've been hearing and
feeling for days now. They're making slow passes ...... the
man in the bunk beside me says they're spraying somewhere for St. Louis encephalitis. I hear "Whiter Shade of Pale."
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Hurry Johnny, it's going to be a tight getaway. We don't have all the time in the world.
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Who are you? What are you doing in
Johnny's office? I'm coming in.
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How long until JamesEarlJones and PrinceWithSheilaE sign in?
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I'm crossing the threshold.
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Probably you wearin' Isaac Hayes chains, Shaft, and lookin' over your shoulder for the bloodhounds. I got the suit, I got the spats, I got the spotlight, and backin' me up I got the
Cab Calloway Orchestra singin' it and dancin' it. Can't touch
this.
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Probably you a midget, Rico.
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People can move their face and eyes to lotsa levels, Shaft, and they can look at things from angles. It's clear you never got your face down in anything like Georgia O'Keefe did.
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Yo mama and yo sistah must be pretty tall ladies, Rico
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I got some Eye-level Art.
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I agree with the carouser. Come on out here, Johnny. Let's deal. I see it. I'm not sure how to contact you, but I sent
my name and numbers to the e-mail address at the bottom of your front page. It's 9:15 here on the coast, and I'd love to
hear from you tomorrow. At any of the numbers, anytime after 7:00 AM PDT.
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This site is very attractive and well put together.
Beautifully textured and linked. It could be a good (noir) movie and killer sound track. It's a story of our times.
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It's 4:00 in the morning out here on the ocean and the night's windin' down. Earlier it was "Baby Did A Bad Bad Thing" on
deck and now somebody's playing Diana Krall below. But before
I go down there and slip into bed with the two waiting chix,
I'm gonna proclaim that Johnny's, The Art Gallery, is nadir noir. Ya got some nadir noir goin' on here. Two Saturdays
and two Saturday nights on the boat this weekend.
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Five hours ago, around sunset, we shot out of a curve
on this road that's winding through Watoga State Forest in southern West Virginia. I spotted
this Mobil station and we pulled in,
fast and leaving dust behind us, for cold drinks and a
fill-up. These mountain roads are narrow, and they're challenging at my speed, which is between 65 and 90.
Tearing up mountains, tearing down mountains, across rivers
and creeks and valleys. Headlights flashing fast onto one new roadside picture after another. You never know what it's going to be -- it could be anything. Sweet dark cool mountain night with honeysuckle. A Great Horned Owl almost hit the windshield.
Dozens of deer, two foxes, and something large we couldn't identify.
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Maybe I do, Rico. When I took the pre-dawn Danish Art Walk
I noticed Toulouse Lautrec's "A Montrouge," Rosa La Rouge (1887). They say it instantly changed the direction of Michael
Jackson's life when he first saw it at the age of 19.
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I say the Rhythm and Blues Revue is over. Anybody got
something to say about this idea? Anybody got a problem? I say some jazz.
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So let it whip (let's whip it baby, let's whip it right, let's whip it baby, whip it all night). Come on ... whip.
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Film Noir Johnny's Rhythm Revue.
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Some diva singing "Nessun Dorma." My father would always belt it out with her.
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They often call me that.
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I love that Main Ingredient song.
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They often call him Speedo but his real name is Mr. Earl (bop-waa do-do-do). They often call him Speedo 'cause he don't believe in wastin' time (bop-waa do-do-do). And put the cape
on James Brown! Put the cape on him!
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She looks like some Asian broad to me, Art Walk. Is it
this Li Yung-Li, the shrink? TO JAMES BROWN: I was a great admirer of you and the Famous Flames, and I am still a great admirer of yours. The one-legged skate. The knee-drop. The flying splits. The footwork. The spinnin' top. You ran the greatest Rhythm Revue of all time, and countless times I have cheered the return of the crawling, caped, Prisoner of Love. You're welcome in my joint, and the drinks are on me -- forever. Whatever you want. It would be my pleasure.
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Here's the Matissse, Johnny.
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It's over, Johnny. Get outta there. Giselle's dead. Come back to America.
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Easy, baby. Slow your roll. Slow down. Ease down. Down. Down. Cruise. And groove.
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Blow-up damage repaired. System alive, charged, and fine-tuned.
Some explosion, some blow-up in the Tough Talk. Took some damage. So you can hold onto it, or if you wanta talk tough for the record, now, you can leave a note on Johnny's Desk in the office upstairs -- maybe somebody will see it. Don't send it to Jean Paul direct. Got that?
Honeygirl -
09/02/99 - 15:19:06
The Heat You Pack? Languor
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So it's Labor Day weekend.
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You can eat the sweet and bitter fruit, Sweet Virginia. It's Labor Day weekend and I'm off for the shore in a fast car.
Got two chix waitin'.
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Eat that sweet and bitter fruit.
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We could quibble about it, HepKitten.
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Take a look at "Portrait of Madame Matisse" (oil on canvas, 1905) in the Statens Museum fur Kunst, Kopenhagen.
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You're flyin' high somewhere else, HepCat. Birdland isn't on 52nd anymore.
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Coffee got a beat this mawnin'. Sunny, bright, and cool.
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(Tell me somethin' good) Tell me that you like it (Tell
me somethin' good).
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OK, so your heart's broken .... Well before you do anything rash, dig this --- Everybody plays the fool, sometime, there's no exception to the rule. (Listen, baby) I ain't lyin' .... I want to say it again --- Everybody plays the fool, sometime, there's
no exception to the rule .... sometime .... (Listen, listen baby) ....
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Opium, voodoo, addiction, obsession, weapons, mammon-worship, killing, adultery, dice, pan-hemispheric vice, vanity, carnality, lethal competition, sympathy for the devil,
a hurricane of spiritual degeneration. Vanitas vanitum.
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For Honeygirl and also for Johnny: I know what to do. Li Yung-Li, MD and Ph.D..
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I'm a celestial. No one does any real work in August.
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Lullaby of Birdland. Flyin' high in Birdland, on 52nd Street.
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According to Johnny, the houngan's been at it for 15 days. It's no wonder he's exhausted.
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The houngan's gone into last-resort mode, Johnny. And that storm you're describing is the edge of a hurricane.
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Everybody shut up. Jesus!
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We're gonna get something straight, Johnny. I don't take
suggestions from you, especially about chix. You got 'em breakin' into your office, doin' whatever they want. As the undisputed Prince of this city, I say you dudded out in Miami, dudded out at the monastery, and now you're duddin' out in Haiti.
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Rainy morning with faraway thunder. Full moon tonight. Hurricanes Cindy, Dennis, and Emily gathering force and headed in from the southeast. My hurricane intuition, however, tells me that all three will dud out.
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Even though you are not the one I was looking for, I found myself looking for you. You have made me laugh. Thanks Johnny.... you are a keeper! I will be watching you.
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Anyone home tonight?
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welllll i prahfrr Stacker Lee.
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Johnny's is the only cigarette smoke I don't mind.
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My favorite is Stakka Lee. I have wide practice and you may contact me.
Li Yung-Li, MD and Ph.D..
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You got the nicest North America this sailor ever saw.
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Money Man was wrong. The Fed took it up to 5 1/4 as I had predicted to insiders on The Street. In addition, the
Money Man mixes his metaphor-allusions.
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The song about this legendary and mythical blues figure has
been done by everyone from Ma Rainey, Cab Calloway, Big Bill Broonzy, Fats Domino, and Wilson Pickett, to Bob Dylan. And there are variant spellings -- from Skeeg-a-Lee in 1924 to
Stackerlee, Stack-O-Lee, Stack-A-Lee, Stagolee, Stag O'Lee, Stacker Lee, Stack O'Lee, Stagger Lee, Stakka Lee, Staggah
Lee, you name it. Does anyone do real work in August?
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Rockabilly Cat, Maurice Williams and many others before and after him have done Stagger Lee. It's a classic. You some dope?
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Maurice Williams didn't do "Stagger Lee." It was Lloyd Price. Maurice Williams and the Zodiacs did "Stay."
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Yes! Please bust out, Johnny. Your story has hit the rocks.
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Money Man is all excited about interest rates. Me, I want Johnny to bust out of Haiti, the craziest place on earth.
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Do you have a laptop with you, Honeygirl, in the hop joint,
in the back of Wing Tsung's? Does it glow there in the
dim light, there on the tray with the rest of your layout? Please send me a message. I have experience and I can help.
Li Yung-Li, MD and Ph.D..
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Touch it with fire, and the black honey-paste swells and
turns golden. The smoke, with its ripe, creamy, fruity
smell, drifts up through the strata of other smoke. All
is infused. Summer or fall, night or day, what does it
matter? Vie: Reve. Opium: realite'.
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Noir Vamp, the problems of one renegade gangster on the lam
with his wounded girlfriend don't amount to a hill of
bluechips in this volatile economy. On with the report:
Fed meets in just a few hours. Only former Fed Governor
Wayne Angell agrees with my prediction that Greenspan won't raise rates. How do we know? The answer lies in gold, the ultimate indicator of future inflation trends. Gold fell
more than 1 percent yesterday, down to $256.20 an ounce,
its biggest drop in seven weeks.
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Johnny: We have come across pictures of an early-morning transaction between you and a Texan. We'll pay $250K for your story if it's who we think it is.
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Fall is here. Faint, but here. Sometimes it's in the afternoon light, and sometimes you can smell it. Like this morning.
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Well I was standing on the corner when I heard my bulldog
bark. He was barkin' at two men who were gamblin' in the
dark. Stagger Lee and Billy -- two men who gambled late. Stagger Lee threw seven, Billy swore that he threw eight.
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We're so pleased to know all this, Money Man, but what about Johnny and those break-ins? Does he slip through the back streets of Hinche after midnight, with a gun, looking for antibiotics?
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Johnny, did you do business the mid-eighties with George W.
Bush, the Texan?
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Will the Fed raise rates tomorrow? The statistics show U.S.
job growth accelerated in July and hourly wages grew at
the fastest pace in six months. Industrial production posted
a sixth straight monthly increase in July and factories added workers for the first time in 11 months. Home sales picked up
in June and auto sales in July, even as market interest rates were rising. Still, it's a close call. My own monitors have detected signs of a slowdown in housing, consumer spending,
and business investment. I say instead of an increase
tomorrow, the Fed will issue a warning signal in the form
of an announced bias in favor of higher rates down the road
if the inflation threat persists.
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Does the heavenly demon have you, Honeygirl? Li
Yung-Li, MD and Ph.D..
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You might be angry about this, Johnny. I hope not. Last week
I developed a yen so I broke into your office and filled my picnic basket with one of your opium set-ups and four bottles
of absinthe. I came straight here, to this hop joint in
the back of the Weng Fat's Market on Mott Street, and I've stayed. I sip tea by the light of the spirit lamp, stretch
out on the silk bunk, and bring the pipe to my lips. The
smoke streams upward and collides with the skylight above
us. You weren't here to ask, Johnny. I couldn't ask you.
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Johnny says you're too vague, Josephine Baker. He says
you'll have to be more specific.
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I've heard tougher tough talk at the symphony.
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Handle this Chablis-talkin' Josephine Baker, Rico. This dancing chocolatta. I gotta do another break-in tonight.
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Come on Darlin' ... you're putting into your story lots of that action heat they say folks like ... but you and I know what
they really want to see and hear.
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kallm daun sunnee boyyy.
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Don't start me talkin', I'll tell everything I know. I'm
goin' break up this signifyin' cause somebody's got to
go. Jack give his wife two dollars go downtown and get some market. Gets out on the streets ole George stopped him.
He knocked her down and blackened her eye, she gets back home tell her husband a lie.
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Jerzee Girl is a signifyin' chick.
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I stand with The Snake. Osama Bin Laden, you can take your problem to the United Nations. In her voodoo fever, Giselle sweats et monte la tete quelquefois.
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shooz-ahfff. lahnng dreenk. playyn thah kabba-ray
bllahvarrd sahnng wittah sahmba rythmm. fallahd byyy less face thah muzik & dance. bassah nova styyl.
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Monkeys galore.
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Osama Bin Laden, you're just a Saudi boy amusing himself.
I engage the enemy. You talk and give interviews and bomb buildings from afar, like a goat-warrior.
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I was a witness, Rico. She left with the saffron-robed
Dalai Lama, and she too was smiling. I watched it all unfold. I saw it with my own eyes.
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The chink chick dances naturally, she looks good in a kimono, and she likes to have fun, but she's an Asian. What can some Asian know about Americans?
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I am expanding my practice and will give internet
counsel (at negotiable rates depending upon ability to
pay -- $125/hr. cap, even for Johnny, who has all that
money from his contraband deals with the Fat Man down on
South Street) to those who slip into Johnny's Lounge.
Li Yung-Li, MD and Ph.D.. Confidentiality is a basic feature of my profession.
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I want some sweat.
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Come out heah wit me and dance under this crescent moon. Donchu gimmee no sass, either, or I wrestle yo squirmin' ass out heah.
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Does this story ever take a step? How often?
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The Dalai Lama was in town this weekend. On Saturday night
he was throwing his weight around in this blues joint in
Jersey, and when he tried to hit on this chick I was with I
had to back him off. She would have talked to him, in fact
she wanted to discuss the struggles of Tibet and inner peace, but he had one thing on his mind, and this one thing was some American Na-Na. We had a few words and mixed it up a little. He eventually backed off, after delivering a beatific smile.
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Etta James is singin' "Damn Your Eyes," but tonight we rock in anticipation of tomorrow's 22nd anniversary of the death of Elvis .... the Elvis smile when he was on top of the world and having fun. They were droppin' dead in Vegas and getting
the chills up their backs. Elvis bringing down the house. Karate Elvis doing "Poke Salad Annie" and "Suspicious Minds." And bringing down the house again with "Dixie" and "All My Trials" and "Battle Hymn of the Republic."
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Heading into the swamps outside of New Orleans from the west. Cruising along in the sunshine and the shadows. Mangroves
and water snakes and levees. Sometimes we stop for cold
drinks at these roadside joints and stretch. We're lazy and sweaty out here in the swamp. Playing Los Gitano Kings in the car.
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Send crooked lawyers, guns, money, and antibiotics.
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Johnny, come back and save your place from death by esoterica.
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Blue runway lights. Touching down.
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Lily, we must be in the same place tonight -- same storm, same time, same train of thought. Night train.
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So oppressively hot and humid all day in the city. But
tonight, here by the ocean, a storm is coming in off the Atlantic, slowly moving closer and closer. The thunder,
the forked lightning, the big blow, the thick sheets of rain. All my life I've been in hiding.
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Broken heads, broken beds, broken buckles, broken laws. Broken pipes, broken tools, people bending broken rules. Hound dog howling, bullfrog croaking, everything is broken.
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Howling 'round your kitchen door / you better let us in / our hair is perfect / you'd like to meet our tailor / so, do the Loup Garous of Hinche / do the Loup Garous of Hinche.
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Oh my God! This site is like sooooo immature. It's like a bad comic book or something. There's no Uzbekistan. Pakistan, maybe.
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During the two minutes of total eclipse, the Silk Road crowd gathered around me to moan and wail. I raised my eye to the sky, shook my fist at the heavens, grabbed the AK-47, and
began firing at the intrusive moon. One more item: Film Noir Johnny the American Hotshot will not leave Haiti alive.
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Listen, I got Tonton Macoutes after me and I got no time to indulge a buncha neurotic broads. Take 'em home, Rico.
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These two chick shrinks and Secret Addiction are invited to my place tonight. We'll have some champagne and some reefers and dance and get to know each other. Maybe we'll do some bad bad things. I gotta good view of the city, and the chix all
know I'm a dreamy host.
Comments:
It's more complex than Gato thinks and less complex than Head Shrinker's analysis. A portion of it, say one-third, is about escape/avoidance through sex, the romance game, and drugs.
She can daydream about these things and focus on them instead
of anxiety sources. They occupy her active mind, and it's a
way to get lost, to disappear. Also, Secret Addiction sees a figurative or literal erection, it excites her, and she must respond to it. She's flattered, and what she's truly addicted to is the power game which follows. She has no real desire
to alter her behaviors, and she recovers quickly from the moments of self-loathing which drive her to sign in here.
This is my specialty and I know of which I speak.
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Vicious Styles, I thought you were vachement cool and tres gentil. I thought you had elan .... some panache .... and
that .... je ne sais quoi. But instead, you turn out to be a Hallmark card sentimentalist.
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Staying at the sidewalk table during the rainstorm and the shower. Under the tilted umbrella. The wet waiter laughing and splashing toward us with fresh drinks. Your smile. Whatever this is, I'll take it.
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I'll give you $200 an hour to shut up, Head Shrinker broad.
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Head Shrinker, you're fulla presumption and you give yourself way too much credit for perception. I have a sister who was a little like Secret Addiction, and she talked to me. I got
her through it and over it, so I say you should save your pontificating for those shopping wives who sit out there
in your waiting room, hot for a prescription. SA, I haven't
set sail yet.
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Secret Addiction is textbook. She knows she'd quickly lose
it for Chat Baker and for anyone else who'd say that because
she has reason to believe she isn't worth it. She knows herself, and sometimes she truly does loathe herself -- just
as she says she does. Most women like this have not developed
a self, so they assume the attitudes, enthusiasms, and values
of those around them at any given moment. They intuit well
and are very good actors. It's textbook chameleon. She is capable of all imaginable disconnects when explaining herself, and she avoids doing so whenever possible.
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You flatter yourself, Secret. I'll be gone long before the coffee is poured. Unless I want you for another day, another night.
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Leitmotif. Again. The archetypal patterns of Johnny's Lounge.
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But we must agree in advance, Chat Baker, that in the morning, over coffee, you won't tell me you love me.
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Send lawyers, guns, and money.
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Secret, I'll let you do some bad bad things for a night or two, maybe for a weekend.
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Baby did a bad bad thing.
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I got some Blair Witch girls who ride.
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What happened to Chat Baker, the one who is fiery, athletic, powerful, and has LifeStyles? Maybe he's what I need. Maybe he's the one. Are you married, Chat Baker?
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Johnny, I fear you're playing the sap for Cousin Doc's wife. Don't play the sap for her, Johnny. Listen to Dr. YaYa. I
have your best interests at heart.
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Dude. Johnny. Dude. You in Jacmel yet? What about those Tontons Macoutes? Dude.
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Castro's gonna drop any day now, I'm sure of it.
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Look somewhere else, girls. He's taken.
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Tell me, 3 and Jordan Baker, who is David? I think perhaps I know him too. Things are beginning to make sense.
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I too love David and no one else.
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David, I love you and no one else.
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Don't stand there rollin' yo pop eyes at me with thoz ripe cantalopes in yo tight hip pockets!
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Have I come to the right place? Is he here .... El Hombre Johnny?
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Get away from Cousin Doc's wife, Johnny. Somethin' bad gonna happen to you. She got volatile hoodoo. Mo Peppa want you to meet her friend, Copper Jazz Woman. Get outta that crazy country now.
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Texans aren't my type, Big Wada, and never have been. You're loud, vulgar, coarse, and have no style. Men from Texas are easy to resist.
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I have one eye and I have visions. The people of Central Asia travel for days and weeks to sit at my feet and hear the word of Allah revealed.
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Are you pretty womens, Margot and Jennifer, or are you ugly thangs?
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OMG, Jennifer, I totally agree with you. I've been like looking at this site off and on for a month, and it's soooo absurd.
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I found this site totally by mistake half an hour ago. What is this? Who are these people? Is this like for real? I think it's a joke.
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A flight to quality, Money Man? Secret Addiction, this guy's a stiff. Wingtips all the way. I'm from Texas, darlin. We take chances in Texas.
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Rock Dumb, let us hope no for the moon and yes for Johnny's, which has become a public nuisance.
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Will the moon lose its ability to reflect light at midnight on December 31st? Will Johnny's Lounge fade from view?
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I predict Fed tightening in the months to come, folks. Be prepared for high cost borrowing in the fall. Here are the
facts: wage and benefit costs increased at their fastest
pace in eight years and bond yields have suffered for six
months in a row. Although the GDP growth has slowed by
almost 1% in the last quarter, that's not enough to suggest
a cooling economy. The only way I could be wrong is if the Employment Report, due this Friday, shows unemployment higher than 4.3%, which is unlikely. Secret Addiction, I look at all
the facts and I read all the reports. Your past performance is too dubious for a conservative man like me. I'm going to have
to make a flight to quality. Thanks anyway.
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thrza pryese ahn jahneeez heddd in hate-eeee.
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Lots of money for the whereabouts of Johnny, who has disappeared with my bride of eight months.
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What I also want is to get married and have a child. Time is running away from me. Let us know more about you, Money Man.
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Head Shrinker, I would guess that the shapes are very similar and that each attachment is at the same location.
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I have concluded, after reading her entries more closely,
that Secret Adiction's disorder is about the need to attach herself to something powerful. This powerful thing excites her, and it can take several shapes.
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You can find me in Samarkand, along The Silk Road.
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Yank on this, Money Man.
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The Fed warns Americans not to yank money out of bank accounts because of Y2K fears. Stock-piling cash under your pillow will only encourage millenium bandits. Even in the remote chance that computers break down and wipe out evidence of people's deposits,
banks will have a physical record as back up. Also, don't worry about the recent drop in the dollar. The dollar's weakening of
2 1/2% vs. the Japanese yen represents a blip or a glitch, but not a trend.
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You sound like some whiner to me, FinDeK, and a snake-oil
prophet of doom too. You must've gotten stung, so put some alcohol or vinegar on it and shut up. And Perv, I'll give you those last words. They're a gift from Jean Paul Noir.
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Baking heat, fires, and drought. Buckled highways, water and electrical shortages. The relatively low amounts of fresh water in the ocean, the high salinity, and the over-warmed seas
of last summer have brought us the high numbers of jellyfish now.
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I'm shakin' it, boss. Try to get me.
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Johnny is issuing foreign policy statements.
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You're welcome in my joint, Snake. You launched the first
attack on Serb forces in Kosovo. But you got a big test comin' up -- selling disarmament to your army. You really want to do this? I'd tell NATO that you appreciate their help, but now
you gotta declare independence and back it up with guns. It's the perfect time, with your enemy in disarray. Tell that giant
NATO bureaucracy to diplomat this.
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I am Drenican, and we open our hearts to no man.
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Pretty womens can find me rite heah! -- LeeRoyBop@AOL.COM.
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These things just happen, S. Addiction. Things happen. Life's like that.
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Ya lookin' at me? Somebody got some problem?
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Since when, Johnny?
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Secret Addiction and Big City Perv are outta my joint. Both of you. No whippin' it in my lounge. Got that?
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Now why should we spend money on a show or two? Nobody does those love scenes exactly like you.
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I'm proud of you, Secret.
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One of us has to go, Marlene.
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O this moon! Over the water. On the water in a wide triangle.
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After work last night, a co-worker and I went to a place in Chelsea for a few drinks. The heat on the street was stifling, but it was cool in there and dark. Two attractive men, who
were smoking cigars, kept looking at me and I began to feel
it. I ended up breaking away from my friend and leaving with them. They took me to the deco Essex House and it became an
all-night thing, but this wasn't my intention ..... it just happened. Sometimes things just happen. I had the shakes all the way over in the taxi and at the bar, where they made me
wait while we had drinks. I didn't get home until noon today, and I am despondent now.
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You can tell all my pets, all my Harlem coquettes, Mr. Otis regrets that he won't be around. You can tell the mailman not to call, I ain't comin' home until the fall, and again I might not get home at all -- Lulu's back in town.
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What a load, Sleepy/Lazy!
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u 2 sleEpie.
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True summer mornings, early -- the feeling that the world has stopped, the bright still-clear light, the songs and calls of the birds, the thick heaviness of all scents, a memory of
night coolness still in the air, the black-eyed Susans
sparkling with drops of water, a big-band clarinet faint in
the background, calling from some lost ballroom. True summer nights -- the crickets, the tree frogs, the candle, the moon
and its talcum light through the trees, the champagne and the stars.
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Rocket 88. Those 88's.
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tahlk morrrr 2 me, roddde mann.
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Film Noir Jean-Jean Paul, are you still in Haiti? Did you
know that David Ogilvy died today, the Hathaway man, the one with the black eye-patch? He was 88.
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John got it all over Diana. American deaths rule.
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Pagan rituals, star-worship, and qi gong -- the latest crackpot trend for lost people without God. O how we long for a spectacle, yet we could find one daily in the One True Church.
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Burial at sea. I'm predicting a rash of Kennedy-style burials at sea. It's where we came from, we have the same proportions of salt and water within our bodies, so it's no wonder we're drawn to the sea.
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Rico, we have intelligence, imagination, and depth.
Comments:
John was handsome, he had George, and he liked those chiseled Soho blondes. But he wasn't qualified to fly in those conditions and he took a chance, which he lost. He flew
that Piper straight through the lost horizon. Everybody
liked him, but what's with the reverence?
Comments:
I lost my mind in a wild romance. I want the frim fram sauce with the ahse and fey, with shafaffa on the side.
Comments:
Powering across Texas at 102 mph. Driving. A long indigo and orange sunset to remember. It's an indigo and orange world on this night, as the thin Thunder Moon waxes above the
mesa. Dusk in Texas. July 17, 1999. To Jerzee Girl: I confess that I like that song too. I'll hold you tight.
Only you. Tonight.
