I wish I could change my name to Kate Mosh.
Here are the prospects:
Iceland
Prague
Portland
NYC
My hands smell muchly of rubber bands. My head is so irritatingly full of cogito this and Cartesian circle that. I cannot stand Descartes and wish Spinoza had been around to teach him a thing or two.
I'm very embarassed that so much of the music I like is under the New Weird America umble.
I need a thimble.
My specialty is hanging onto the backburner.
I dreamt I made out with Pharoah Sanders and that a pong championship was taking place in an old television set that sat jeeringly in Sasha's room, in its background were revolving doors of city scapes projected behind the paddles battling so slowly against one another in white lit up light.
