Ten Blank Stares

Ten Blank Stares facing the neglected spot on the back of my head. I swear to God, every single time I step foot into that side of my brain, something is watching. Not a jest!

What I mean, of course, is that each and every time I record music something is watching me. Yes, I'll admit, I'm that much of a jackass. Recording an album seems possible, so why not jump for it? Like I said, I'm that much of a jackass. I jumped. Passion and cosmetic paints are two completely different things. I'm hoping to adorn the former, but that's not going as planned. I hear something, and think: "That's me! Other princes don't stand a chance." Technicality is harder than it looks, or, sounds. Rather. Indeed, the album is well on its way to finishing tying its shoes.

On another token, a colorful array of tapestries were sewn on my recent trip to the beach. Such tapestries were in fact jokes! Many many joshes. Joshua. Ill to be repeted, might I add. Save with a sword in hand.

Before I pass away from bombast, the truth must emerge. I am sick.