Oooh you're a naughty mess

music may with sweetness, through mine ear, dissolve me into ecstasies. milton

f'n' ok/ drinking black coffee/ listening: nervous breakdown, black flag/ yester made the fatal of beginning trop jeune/ as i 'worked' whiskey from the night appeared at my elbow and with what little will power i have i gave in and drank/ 25cls disappeared swiftly, followed by a couple of 66cl stellas then an escape to the tops/ thereat was rewarded for continued custom mit fier fur one score and five and a shake atop/ most nice/ adazzle i flew home and spent the rest of the after in jeweled contentment, listening to much chopin and drifting hither and thither/ a phenomenal song has just cum on my stezza: i can't quit you, otis rush/ hand-signed-form-of-payment-which-can-take-3-5-working-days-to-
clear it out, i implore/ minraud (one (of few) from wsb)/ thanks gramps...finally, i stumbled across a work which chimes with my theory of arrested development in the Artist and addiction to reminiscing/ read on...
...Bohemia is less a region of definite situation and boundaries than a state of mind, a memory of youth and of the glamour of youth... -Arthur Barlett Maurice