been hanging out with carla & andrew bunches & bunches. like- grapes, all these sweet globules encased in skin. peel it & its just like eyeballs. saw andrew's band "guns on high street" at cbgbs the other night with david & carla's cousin. adventures from there, with a seminola patina. diseased with weird anger. velvet ropes snaking aside. last night went to go see guns on high street again, at this place right at the foot of the williamsburg bridge on delancy. the roof had a koi pond, the bathroom had water trickling from the ceiling (avant garde like, not sue your landlord style). carla was the genius of sneaking in beers, andrew the genius of stealing beers, jenny the genius of remembering the flask. i guess i'm the genius of drinking the booty. i'm also the genius of calling that girl a goblin. behind her back. i'm tough like that. this show, bob was sober but that one guy? the other guitarist? he makes every shirt he wears look like a poets shirt. & he was laying on his back playing, thats how drunk HE was. then we walked fucking 5 miles home. fuck you f train & d train. fuck you delancy stop & fuck you atlantic avenue stop. its like a telegram! fuck you stop. you fucking suck stop. i have a knife stop. stop me if you can stop.