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don't lie to me
i was calling your name, but the noise was too loud
i was playin with guns while your mama had your pu...
What gives you the right to fuck with our lives: CLII
What gives you the right to fuck with our lives: CLI
What gives you the right to fuck with our lives: CL
What gives you the right to fuck with our lives: C...
don't mug yourself
i been running, police on my back
judging by my steel i got something to do here
Monday, January 22, 2007
they reminisce over you for real:
I got a re-up on that package today: my old friend Debbie Lee, now a New York pastry chef and globetrotting foodie, mailed me some delicious-looking "Siamese Dream Meringues," wrapped in a lovely cellophane arrangement. Before she found me through THFTNR, I don't think Debbie and I had seen or heard from each other in eight or nine years. In the way-back-when we were punk rockers together, hanging around the Go-Kart records store waiting for Jesse to get off work and go to some show at CBs or Brownies or Wetlands or Tramps or somewhere in New Jersey or Long Island. One particularly pungent memory has Debbie, Jesse, myself, Ivan, Gentle Ben Manners, Filthy Dan Galucci, Erica Waldorf, Nick Balls-Steffens, Michael Finkler and Emma Allen sneaking into a single motel room in Seaside Heights. There might have been GHB and bumper cars involved for certain people, but, of course, things happen on the streets and proof is hard to come by. Anyway, Hooray for Debbie.