facts is facts

alright. i'll try and keep it simple. The fact is, i thought i would have more time, but the truth is, (if i can be honest) i really don't. i thought i did but i don't. it's a lie. i lied to you. you caught me.

but tonight, i got out early enough to go get some lobstas. I hung out with Sonja Pacho, and Sam and Con and Mio and all them cats. (jack and CJ too) but, when i got home, you know, it's too late, (which isn't late when you think about it, but it's late if you look at the big picture) so i gotta take a nap.

I mean, sure, i take pictures. Sure, i download them from the camera here and again, but between the construction and the studios, and trying to get some time with mio, and petting the ducky, and using the drugs and the drinking and the smoking, and trying to make everything look like it costs in time for morning, there's no editing. there's no downloading. there's no uploading. that's just how it is man. And it doesn't make me a loser, because you know, we could trade shoes if you like, (i'll shark ya man. i'll shark yer toes) but tonight, they're playing Jaws in Bryant Park. did i go? No. i didn't go. but did i eat lobsta? Oh yes. yes i did. i drank the beers, i ate the lobster, i slurped the oysters and the clams. sure i did. i drank the gibsons. i had the beers in the boots. i did those things. I rode in the taxi and i sneezed the whole way across the brooklyn bridge. was it pollen? the driver says it was pollen. but was it?! maybe. Maybe it was Fema Sanctioned Twins Powder. you know, the dust from the twins when they got dropped by (allegedly) Osama and Company. To be honest, you and i know they didn't come down on account of Osama. He's the patsy dawg. you know it. so do i. but sure. i ate your downtown lobsta. I did it. I don't apologize. I got guys from the Czech republic laying down a few hundred square feet of Pirelli flooring in the studio right now, that shows how i roll. that's how i roll. they're listening to Metallica on Repeat. Con's getting a nap before she rolls out to see Megadeth at Jones Beach.

Me? i'm thinking about my 6:10 am calltime. i'm thinking of blasting a pint of warm salt water up my nose before i go down for the count. i'm thinking of riding a horsie around on a beach somewhere between Belize and Cancun.

i'm wondering when my AC is going to quit fucking around and make it cold in here. I'm wishing i had just two more 555's. one before i lay down and one before i wake up. (or at least as soon as i wake up) i'm thinking about if i'm going to listen to the new ween Shinola or if i'm going to listen to something a bit more mainstream while i ride on the B61 from the hook to the F. i'm wondering if i should bump up to 75mg Z or roll with the 50's. I'm wondering what's going on with that kid, Oskar Schell in the book i'm reading. i'm wondering what his big deal is?(click on that red hand) i'm wondering when he's going to figure out if that's his grandfather or not.

so, it's like that.

but you know what? i'm still here man. i'm always still here. even if my pictures are from nineteen fucking seventy two. even if... that lens keeps snapping. That CCD chip keeps getting hit with the light just a few feet off my bow.

because that's how i roll.

(and i don't even want to talk about how my email has been down for two months. i don't want to talk about it i said. i know it's down. you think i don't know it's down? try being me... try you log on to your email, and there's some horseshit about it, but you don't have the time to try and fix it. you try that, and you're trying being me. you're wearing my shoes. and you know what it is to be sharkin' mutha fuckas, because you're sportin' my crunked up clarks, because that's how I roll. think about it.

i don't even know if i've mastered this italicized thing. for all i know, using blogspot, i'm jacking it up right now.

and that's not even talking about that show on national geographic. that one about inside 911. (which is mostly crap because the fact is, they're still pointing at Osama, instead of pointing at PHYSICS. Just explain Tower Seven to me, and i'll lay off Osama. Just tell me how a 47 story office building just falls down with no investigation, no nothing, and i'll let it go. (but don't email me, because it plain old ain't gonna work)

(maybe that kills off the italics. i don't know) i'm jumping past the code. you tell me. you check out if Tower Seven is bull pocky.

and then tell me if hearing mohammed atta in the plane makes it better.

but i don't want to talk about that.
well. i do. but nobody else does. that's what i've noticed.

what about you?
you buy the official story? do you think it's possible for two 110 story buildings and one 47 story building to fall at the speed of gravity by following The Pancake Theory?

think about it. tell me if you do.
me? i don't. i'm not buying it. come on.

and for what?

ah. you see how i ramble. but if there's one of you out there that knows what i mean, then that's all i need. you know what i mean.

now, i gotta blow my nose. i've got a ducky to love, and i've got a studio to steer.

you do what you gotta do, and don't worry. my time comes when i have the time to put the pictures up. it just ain't tonight. i been eatin' lobstas downtown, and there's Czechs tearing up pirelli just to lay down more pirelli. i gotta let 'em out comes the crack-a-dawn.

_danconnortown 75˚ out there. it's nice.