for your information
I do live a
fabulous life
but its none of your business, so fuck off!!!

My life is so much better than my wildest hopes and dreams, reality has so far exceeded fantasy that I have trouble getting a grip sometimes...

I've spent more time composing electronic music with total creative freedom in ONE DAY than you will in your whole life combined...

  I could boot up Reaktor 4 right now, and take it around the block for a little spin, you know, toss out a few sklorks and blorks and skreee eeeeee eeee... All it would take is 5 minutes of knob twiddling   to culminate more simple fun in life than you will experience in 100 years...

How can I tell you how fabulous my life really is when you don't even know the vocabulary of what its like to do something that's truly worthwhile, using top of the line machinery, all of this is taking place in a building I completely own and built myself, on land I completely own that looks like a jungle of trees and weeds, with complete privacy and freedom to get high as a motherfucker on all the DOPE anyone could possibly need, pigging out like a motherfucker, building a massive studio midi patchbay, with 15 inputs and and 28 outputs!

Unity DS-1

CAKEWALK-8
PROFESSIONAL
thanks, Mom

(two) MX-8 6x8's ::: (one) KMX 2x8 ::: (one) THRU 1x4 Midiman

Lots and lots of squiggling colored dots that fly ing every direction according to an invisible controlling pulsation, hundreds of knobs in rows and multicolored panels with wires running to and fro every single "place" you could stick a couple of wiggly fingers... There is just no point in casting American pearls before English swine like this... suffice to say... come to Texas and discuss this with me face to face, and maybe you'll get a healthier grasp of the crux of it when I drag you out in the gravel driveway and beat your fucking head into oatmeal mush with a tree limb so you can squirt brains out your nose and one of your eyeballs will popout of its socket and hang from a pulsating red squirting blood vessel just long enough for me to get some pruning shears and CUT YOUR FUCKING BALLS OFF, toss them in a baggie, and sell them to Steve Cureton as Wanker Christmas Tree Lights, then you can celibrate the moments of your lives by letting me cut your torso in half with a chainsaw so your guts fall out on the floor like lasagna and jellyfish JAM makin' paradiddles on your eardrums?