Summer's first nameless cocktail.

One part rum, three parts pineapple juice, a bit of ginger if you like it, add ice and shake. It's a nameless bastard of a drink right now. Suggestions welcome.

I had a dream, not so much a dream as much as wishful thinking. I was in that state beetween sleep, dream, and awakening. I could see nothing but I could hear everything. Judy and Kent must have been talking about something, but in my mind I turned it into the perfect wistful fantasy.

I was asleep at home and there was a function, a birthday or Christmas, something that involved people talking outside your door in exited tones. Hot cups of ginger tea would be ready when I go downstairs. Along with beings that light up with the very sight of your drool-encrusted sleepy face.

I did not want to wake. Foolishly I thought I could will myself to sleep forever and not have to wake up. Maybe that's why I woke up at 6pm. But outside it looks, feels and sounds like 9pm. Rain hasn't stopped. Still feels like I'm trapped in the sounds and memories of the rain from yesterday, playing in an endless loop like a Mobius strip.

"Can't you hear those cavalry drums hijacking your equilibrium? Midnight hags in the mausoleum where the pixilated doctors moan, carnivores in the Kowloon night, breathing freon by the candlelight, Coquettes bitch slap you so polite till you thank them for the tea and sympathy.

I want to defy, the logic of all sex laws, let the handcuffs slip off your wrists, I'll let you be my chaperone at the halfway home, I'm a full grown man but I'm not afraid to cry

Neptune's lips taste like fermented wine, Perfumed blokes on the Ginza line, Running buck wild like a concubine, who's mother never held her hand,
Brief encounters in Mercedes Benz, wearing hepatitis contact lens, bed and breakfast getaway weekends with Sports Illustrated moms.

I want to defy The logic of all sex laws, let the handcuffs slip off your wrists, I'll let you be my chaperone, at the halfway home, I'm a full grown man but I'm not afraid to cry"---Beck, "Sexxlaws"

I took an online e-mode test once to find out who my inner rock star was at the insistance of my friends, apparently, I was Beck and I didn't see it at the time but now I do. My girlfriend left me before the Sea Change album came out, just like Beck's did before he wrote Sea Change and it really conveyed how I felt at the time. But before I drowned, I was living the golden age. And I sounded like the Beck of "Sexxlaws". My friend, Brian who used to play guitar with me and my brother would see me back when I was going through the downward spiral and wonder why? "You're the life of the party, man" he'd try to remind me. But as far as I was concerned, this party needed to get higher, and the perfect drug has long since left my veins. I guess I'm doing fine.

"Put your hands on the wheel, let the golden age begin, let the window down, feel the moonlight on your skin, let the desert wind cool your aching head,
Let the weight of the world drift away instead, these day I barely get by, I don't even try,

It's a treacherous road with a desolated view, there's distant lights but here they're far and few, and the sun don't shine even when its day, you gotta drive all night just to feel like you're OK, these days I barely get by, I don't even try"---Beck, "The Golden Age"

I don't know what I'm doing here but for everything there is a season. I'm not sure if I've found mine, but I can feel it coming. I hope I will be perceptive enough to pick up on obvious signs, but more importantly, to do something about them. A body in motion stays in motion. A body at rest stays at rest. But you don't have to be Isaac Newton or get hit on the head by a falling apple to realize that no motion can be achieved if the body stays at rest. Not so much that it can't be achieved in as much as it would take a lot more effort to get off your lazy ass. Realization is one thing, application of said theory, now that's something else. And I'm too lazy for that right now.

Words from my restless youth seems dated. Into the flood again. Same old trip I made back then. I see it wash again.

All five horizons revolved around her soul, as the earth to the sun. Now the air I tasted and breathed has taken a turn and all I taught her was everything. I know she gave me all that she wore.

My bitter hands shade beneath the clouds of what was everything. All the pictures have all been washed in black. Tattooed, everyday.

Don't you die. I'm justified.

I don’t know what I’m doing here but it’s much better than the other alternative. I need a rock to rundown upon, I need a softer place to fall. I don’t know if I’ll ever find it but I know that it’s nice to have hope in this crazy jazzy, snazzy world. It really ain't half bad when the kettle hits the fan, when the pawn hits the land, on fiona’s apple you can depend, I guess I’m not making sense, but I need to iron out the kinks, cue music: “should I stay or should I go?” It doesnt matter cuz what is fun "The Shareef don't like it, Rockin' the Casbah, Rock The Casbah"--The Clash. Look on the brighter side of life and when the shit hits the fan, listen to Dookie,

"Don't get lonely now, Dry your whining eyes, I'm just roaming for the moment sleazing my back yard so don't get so uptight, you been thinking about ditching me,

No time to search the world around, 'cause you know where I'll be found
When I come around"---Green Day

Come around as you are