wicked game is either a burning piece of retribution after a particularly scalding encounter with love (lust?), or a terrifyingly real essay on the condition of human love. Because if you're going to stand there in the pouring rain, with a bouquet in your hand and the ink of that poem you wrote going all runny on you telling me that this kind of love doesn't always involve an element of lust, then i reserve the right to sit on my porch, drink chai, and smirk at you.

there's something about that word...wicked. if evil is a mind bent out of shape, then the wicked are actually twisted in some sort of wire hanger orgy of right angular wrongness.

it's strange what desire will make foolish people do...

the jury's still out. but it does make you want to sit there and listen to it over and over and over again..

almost forgot: prado, driving to hot n spicy, pakola, 3am, at a particularly appropriate moment in life, the universe, and everything.