I feel empty, feels scraped out. Carved out. You’re a fruit bruh, the flesh and the Rhine and monkeys will put their entire mouths to it,,
Just to eat you.
Nom nom nom,,
Sweet and bitter and a dash of homicide,
Not “unwell”,, i feel fine,, it’s fine.
Fucking fine I tell you.
One of those math days,
You look up at a clock and think..
“I gotta be half dead, right?”
Gotta be halfway through, give or take,,
So I go to sanctuary, I think about all this music gear I’m fucking around with,, the Model 12 is a game changer, head to toe. Sync’d up through the Midi, I configure it to be the Master, and the machine+ to be the slave.
It’s a match made in heaven.
Like they were made for each other..
One handles all the audio, and the nuance that comes with it,
One handles the MIDI and the tedious math behind that .
Of the gear I have,, I have,,mmmmm,,,maybe 20% connected,
So what that means?
It means there’s more, you have stuff to look forward to, I plug one item up and I start fuckin around with it, give myself a little milestone,, I made a loop two days ago, just one little scene…
But lil mamma was thick.
I layered on the phat ass bass groove, layer down a bed of lettuce, let us lay down, hit record on something…
Lovely..
A lovely part of being alive..
It seems like every time a woman is murdered, the parents are hoping that they were trafficked for sex slavery.
Weird.
Onslaught Is a neat word
dawn 