everything's in check, baby. there ain't no dirt on me. my tracks are covered. witnesses silenced. i stay downwind and slide.

maybe that's why you got no email. just slid on past you man. you missed it.  shit came, but you missed it. informative beautiful poetry-filled stuff, but  you couldn't hold on to it. slid right out the other side of your inbox,  shit was so smooth. like castor oil on a sick man's chest. like black ice on a one-lane delaware road. like wild bill asking for help with the couch. 
(thass why fools don't know i got a journal. i fly under radar, you dig.)

it rubs the lotion on its skin, baby, you know what i'm saying. put the lotion in the basket, girl. uh-huh.

i huddled in bed last night after work because i needed to rejevenate so i could take care of bidness later that night, and slacker was on the independant film channel, and i cocooned-up and watched it for a bit.

austin 
(it is in austin, yes?) seems a bit like berkeley or madison wisconsin - everyone just hanging non-stop. just hanging.

ooooh, i see an accusation of style-bitin'. ok. right on. i feel you,
dog.  your complaints are heard and logged like a motherfuck. there will be a  full-scale investigation and shit. don't you worry, money. the truth will  come to light.

don't. you. worry.

so have a good weekend, yo. watch your back and keep your head up.

peace.

-stee in the motherfucking house