Meticulous Notes on a Personal Turmoil, with Sunsplashed Reggae Beats!

Sean Kingston, you win, alright you win, it won't escape me, it's there all the time, please make it stopp, will ya! will ya!

Screech's Meth Induced Celestine Prophecy

Fuck U, Shine 901, you little bitch, don't write ur shittie shitfucks on my g-d-damn billding no more. I c ur dumb shit all ova town and it makes me wanna kill u w/ my mind. I saw u when u wrote dat shit, and i shoulda murked u then, u mark-ass bitch, but i didn't cause i thought u wuz joey gazelleing it in the shadows. fucked me on that you know, but you were right at least that one time, well it's not then anymore and i know what u look like even tho u look like all dese otha cowirds in the oak. fucks, sucks, cupcake.

Hazlewood, Hazelwood, Halzewood, DEAD

this guy is dead, but when he wasn't dead, he was awesome and he still probably is awesome in death but it's too soon to evaluate corpse raddness, it all boils down to how the bones settle together and get along with the rats after all.

Man, this kinda muzik gets me all heated. I wanna call it baroque heroin pop country schmaltz de-luxxx, but that seems too reductive. fuck a label anyway. dude did his shit proper, was a stone cold weirdo (see left). Some Kind of spiritual node on which scott walker, glen campbell, gainsbourg, and maybe leonard cohen and dion when they were getting alhambra's afro poofed son to threaten their lives with reverb and echo. Cowboy in Sweden is my jam from 93 til infinity (or more like it last night till this (velvet) morning). Weep, stolid munchkin.