A Stroke of Genius

So. I need to write. As of right now, the new body of music will be called: Lonely Season. Javier Loredo will be doing the art. This is the picture I have in my head. I'm in search of a muse. A woman to lie in bed and count freckles with. I've decided to let go. So. If the music is overly emotional. So be it. Women. Always there. Excuse the short sentences. Vague, I know. But, this is meant for venting, is it not? My job is to leave enough work behind to be remembered by. Lie with me...you'll acquire immortality. I promise. Deadly sins. I'm cool with it if you are. I want to make love to an artist while a symphony plays to our movement. Movement...singular. We'll move as one.

This should suffice today. Good and Evil are always at war. I'll fuck Ayn Rand 'till she loves me. I'm a dreamer. Accept it. Ideal death scenario? Lungs filled with ink. So that you can breath me....permanently.

love.