Sleep, a waste of time.

What a marathon last few 24 hours. I can't even begin. To tell you.
Money-making, people-schmoozing, fun-ingesting = my perfect perfect world.
REM Perfect Circle kind of night, back in the work/live space and it's now programmed into the cd player to play meaningfully, consecutively, ten times.

Heaven assume, shoulders high in the room.
Try to win and suit your needs, speak out sometimes, try to win.

I'll never forget the time for the first time those words hit my awaiting mind. I was typing on a portable typewriter in spring in the middle of Japan. I was writing poetry and I was alone with the music of another and then Perfect Circle.
There was nothing like Perfect Circle in Japan, and the scent of night-blooming jasmine hitting the face while walking down an ancient and curving quiet street.
Japan in Buffalo and vandals: to halt a soft memory train, today I took my freelance gig people to the Japanese Gardens in Buffalo and was sad to see that vandals destroyed expensive and spirit-housing items. Why are people imperfect.

This night is full of warm breezes.
This weekend is full of delicious rockstar moments.