EMPTY POCKETS OF A PUNCH DRUNK KID

d u s t /}

{\--the lipless chronicles

je suis une gamine psychedelique,
hold my hand and let's drown together

{/profile --

the punch drunk kid

i'm THAT kid. the one with the flaming red hair and that smirk on her face

della, sixteen, experimentalist extraordinaire
affectionately twisted :>

asdfjkl;jkl;qwertyuiopzxcvbnm,asdfjkl;

do you belong to a song?;
does it drag you along by the tongue at the top of your lungs?

{/nobody's hippie --

Saturday, September 20, 2008 ( 2:12 PM )

Organs produce music. My lungs are whistling to the tune of Nobody’s Hippie. holy guacamole. Want to be my hippie? Yes that was a pathetic attempt to even joke about making a pass at all multipliers. Guffaw. I am bad news. Motivate me to stand up and take my medicine. Seretide is my drug. It really is.

The little jumpsuit-clad men that run my brain are on their third coffee break, which translates roughly to cigarrettes and alley romances. Tut Tut little jumpsuit-clad men. Tais-toi! Della, tais-toi! This obviously shows that I am once again under the influence of the internet’s black magic. I’m trying to learn French, for the nth time. French, Italian, and Japanese – I am an overeager chienne that will probably fail miserably. Watch me swim or sink?

I am wearing a YOKOHAMA shirt that came free with the tires we bought there last last month. I like it. It’s pretty nice for a freebie. TMI? The idle mind is the devil’s workshop.

Cause you're just damage control

for a walking corpse like me - like you

--- Portions For Foxes [Rilo Kiley]

My Laptop doesn’t have a name yet. He’s jealous of iBob. What’s a good name for him? He’s red and old.

Okay. Rufus. Good enough?

Labels: eagerness, seretide, yokohama