The time on my clock shows 2 a.m.
What am I doing up so late? Staring at a piece of paper and listening to some music.
All I want is you. My mind keeps saying that to me. I have no clue what that means.
I can feel the wind. It must be cold outside. I’m wrapped in my blanket with the fan switched off. I’m not about to sleep. I need the gentle sound from the fan when am sleeping.
Guitar strums and cigarette smoke. Old monk rum and drum beats. Bob Marley and Beatles.
It’s all like fine wine. The older it is the better.
Tell me, tell me, tell me.
I just want to write what my mind wants me to. I don’t think I want to stop.
The ashtray is flooded. Jimi Hendrix looks like he is anemic. Maybe he is just dehydrated. ‘Here you go, Jimi. Some water’. This might help you.
You’re such a mean old man. Oh come on. She’s a go getter. You’re such a dirty old man.
Do you think you can get away with this mess that you have created?
You’re such a mean old man. You’re just a dirty old fag.