Rock Muse

I'm starting to live the rock and roll life style: staying up late, playing guitar into the wee hours, coming home to a dark apartment, finding it hard to come down from the rush of performing, high from watching nubile young women dancing to the r&r beat that my mates and I laid down. Last night, the Telepaths (minus two) ripped up the song book. We tore through our little set of covers and two originals like three demons from hell. We had an appreciative and well-lubed audience of artists hanging out at the Flatiron Building. Our rough and ready performance was the essense of the r&r aesthetic. It was crude and rude and oh so fun. I woke up this morning, (I slept on the couch, didn't want to disturb the Lovely Carla) after four hours of sleep with a new lyric for a new song running through my head. This is called inspiration. My muse now wears a leather jacket and high-heeled sneakers. She's a r&r banshee and she wants me to rock out loud and proud.