he’s lived his whole life. he’s seen things.
he doesnt want to be on the hollywood rock walk
what he wants to do is be across the street at that mexican restaurant.
in the dark.
margueritas melting, wet burrito steaming,
one last dip of the chip into the salsa.
lou reed worries me.
what happens if you write some of the best stuff of all time and sing it perfect and play it perfect and then one day it just all goes away.
when was the last good lou reed song? sweet jane? thirty years ago?
i dont want to go 30 years inbetween sweet janes.
all that stuff worries me.
jimmy page wrote zep one, two, three, four, and the rest and then never wrote another good song again.
how can people write such great music for years and then it all dries up.
not even a drop left.
we listened to johnny cash in palm springs.
some people have never lost it.
bukowski never lost it.
lou reed doesnt want to be at guitar center with his hands in mush surrounded by nobody named andy warhol.
i didnt sing to the cute baby like the gnome girl woulda wanted
but for some little kids i will one day
and some nights theyll get some heavy doses of the velvets.
and one day we’ll be where we should.
missing raymi + treacher + makeout city + nocturnal angel + reason: hit and run