Now for a recurring feature here: Random Crap From An Old Notebook
In this case it's from one titled Skating Is Poetry from 1987. It was mainly filled with bad punk rock song lyrics that never got from the page to rehearsal and while those old songs might be more sociologically interesting I've decided to instead share some narcissistic observations along with some bad poetry. It's all non-linear and perhaps only good to me. But that's sort of the point.
I always hate shaving in the morning.
It sounds like 70's music.
You ever notice that the Osmonds all look like frogs, especially that loathsome Jimmy.
One thing I had never noticed before is the blistering guitar solo on "Concrete Jungle."
Hippies...shake your heads like angry mops
Under the rain stroked sky
The gumball rolls into the slot
The preachers don't like rock
Cause it cuts into their profit.
Cardinal on the sill,
Time stands still,
Let's pop another pill.
The girl with the felt tip shoes
always leads the way.
She's got warm hands
that sound like trains
through kudzu draped railroad trestles.