Oooh you're a naughty mess

feeling good/ peeling the lead of excessive rest from my front brain/ went to bed around 1500 yester after/ i periodically reach a point where the mortal house refuses to continue/ thus i to bed, gifting the self rest and an absence of pwoison/ ekooting limehouse blues, ramblin jack elliott/ sipping cafe estima cooked espress style and warming the muscles while the potions and pills kick in/ have no plans for the vokenende as skynt/ the life of a freelancer is thus: get paid, splurge, hobble till next payment/ have not attempted a poem in a while/ i've often speculated that such industry is driven by negative feelings and evidence would seem to support this/ when i'm content i write a little, blog and diary, but have no desire to do owt but relax and enjoy music &c./ however when my humors are disturbed a veritable flood of words pours forth/ oh well...