Sunday, September 17, 2006
For Ms Gudmundsdottir.
You inspire me to live… Your beats your beats flick on my tiny power switch in the back of my head. You delve into my unseen territory. You can evoke my greatest amazingist amazingist thing. My primal primal inspiration thing. A giant violent hairy monster which attacks at dawn or any other time it chooses to depending on the weather in my head. It can abuse me or use me whichever it chooses it can take me over and plunge it’s fist into my core and fills me up with love and furry things. You make my chest tingle and surge and somewhere you turn on a tap in my bits. From which pours you… inspiration in an upwards flow taking a choke hold of my throat and surging up through my chest and head in a spiritual rush of fulfilment and joy…. Going hunting. I want to dance in sleazy clubs where the bass line doesn’t stop and the walls beat and surge and become me and become you and the lights are our really light… sleazy and red and electric green and the odd shot of blue you touch me and you come from my fingers and fill other people as I touch them and move with them you are one with me and her and her and all these people in here who are they? You know them your voice knows them and fills my ears and drives me to such craziness I must fuck her because you move me and give me a glint in my eye, you drive my pelvis into the dirt and my words from my heart you make me want a more creative life. This is an alarm call I am not listening, your imaginary fingers touch me between my legs and egg me on to dirtier things wake up wake up now I will never be your genius, just make me come to your music with my heart open. Sit in the trees and watch me from on high.
¶ 11:12 pm 
