Showing posts with label Future Wax Poetics writer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Future Wax Poetics writer. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
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I excel in hips, fantasy football, annnnd
nothing else, really.
Deep Fried Frenz.
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HeightFiveSeven@gmail. (emphasis on the love, please)
I'm So and So, I'm This, I'm That.
- Logan
- Apt. 680, Echo Park, Los Angeles.
- Caramel complected/body like heaven (ummm no). Your favorite nerdy bikini-clad sarcasm peddler. Tomboyish tendencies in a girly package. Music nerd making my way in the world. The more emotion I put into it/the harder I rock. I bow at the altar of Phil Spector, Rick Rubin, and Large Pro. I find that I can amuse myself to no end. I got front & back, and side to side. I am a real person and NOT viral marketing for Stones Throw. I also have a government job so please don't tell too many people I'm in my bathing suit on the Internet. Nothin else to tell, really.
Doom of the day!
“Cheers, is that your beer kid?/Then swallow it, or get chased by the Sandman on some Apollo shit.”
Now click this link and think it through
the next article I write might be about you.
Saul Bellow.
It's always 1993 on this here web log.
Please respect this rule during your stay.
9th Wonder (future husband & patron saint of my record collection) on production:
“I don’t really get into the technicalities of it. I just get that feeling in my chest.”
“Passion saves the day.”
(Ray Bradbury)
For real & that's no question.
(Nick Drake)
No frontin or no guessin.
