Brass in pocket

Got brass in pocket
Got bottle, I'm gonna use it
Intention, I feel inventive
Gonna make you, make you, make you notice

Got motion, restrained emotion
Been driving, Detroit leaning
No reason, just seems so pleasing
Gonna make you, make you, make you notice

Wow, been awhile. Been a few. This whole ‘trip’ began in 2001. The Big Sep. Tippy toeing in the waters, in search of a new. A ‘replacement’? “Another.” “The one” (third).. “Her.”

Gonna use my arms
Gonna use my legs
Gonna use my style
Gonna use my sidestep
Gonna use my fingers
Gonna use my, my, my imagination

Gonna use the internet. Gonna use nightclubs. Gonna use work. Gonna use friends.

Coz I, gonna make you see
There's nobody else here
No one like me
I'm special, so special
I gotta have some of your attention
Give it to me

Whilst Chrissie Hynde so wonderfully sings the lyrics of a song that makes one REALLY REALLY “FEEL” – I ain’t so sure I gots the confidence to accompany the lyrics. If I did, me thinks I wouldn’t share my bed with a GD (Gosh Darn – and I love him) cat.

Got rhythm, I can't miss a beat
Got new skank, it's so reet
Got something, I'm winking at you
Gonna make you, make you, make you notice

Searching blindly. Grabbing without fingers. Eyeing without verbalizing. Touching only to run. Hugging, with silent goodbyes.

Gonna use my arms
Gonna use my legs
Gonna use my style
Gonna use my sidestep
Gonna use my fingers
Gonna use my, my, my imagination

Done all that. The Chase can really be poopy. U like one, she no like u. One like u, u no like her. U both like, then little idiosyncrasies make you ask “do I really wanna do this until the enda time?” And usually ‘no’. So u go. Or she goes.

Coz I, gonna make you see
There's nobody else here
No one like me
I'm special, so special
I gotta have some of your attention
Give it to me

Coz I, gonna make you see
There's nobody else here
No one like me
I'm special, so special
I gotta have some of your attention
Give it to me

I DO feel I’m special – it’s just that about 99% of the time I can’t convince myself that. When that confidence rarely sets in – I go, I do, I be, we be. There’s always an end. Reckon everything ends. I’d just like to gnaw on the whole rib for awhile (relax, I’m talking barbecue) versus having short, burnt ends. Six months or so has been the longest ride (after a six year thingy and a 20+ year thingy.)

Some wonderful ladies, some wonderful, incredible times. Like a stiff arm block in football – usually one side or the other fends it off.

Victor, you’re weird. Uh huh, prolly so. Don’t care, tis me. Likea play in the third act, I’m kinda excited to see how this puppy ends.

Gonna use my fingers. (Pervert - I'm talking about typing)....

Gonna use my, my, my imagination. Don’t worry, be horny………. er, be happy. Love, Victurd.