Writs of write mind, write body, and write soul. Obeah. Obey. Obeisance. Oblige. Oblong pencil, fingernail and tooth, 'twas written. "And so," wrote the writing warrior. "Et alors."

"Ohhhh yeaaaahhhh," she exclaimed. "Your frontal lobes are lubricated, your tongue wet like my wolf breath." Pant pant and the salivary amylase attacks, so sweet, so satisfying.

Elaborate elaborate my dear friend, you lack the wit, the fortitude to see your dreams come to light. And your shit sucks. I mean, have you read it, your little submissions, your repetitive efforts at editing one sentence. I am a writer alright, just not a cool one man. Ha, one man sounds like wo-man. Fantastico.

That's okay, let's listen to the moan, the howl of my upstairs friend- he's jiving with l.armstrong, my homie on the speakerboxxx (thanks guys).

Trills, rapido on those trills, so hot, so hungry, the notes sweat and all I can do is cry along. Give me that love, talent, give me the ever ongoing love, spread it with your little spackle knife and now sealed, the time is gone. No paintjob to cover it up, the easy going whisp of voice that walks under a cumbersome weight. Get over the mundane buddy, you need to be a little twinkle-toes, like that friend of mine, I'm naming him petey le tweety. He's watching Bullitt like a true badass, but now he's stopped howling and I don't get it. I howl whenever I watch Bullitt. I know we all do, so I feel good about it.