No filters. That's how folks describe the ones who say too much. You know, the ones without Tourette Syndrome who still manage to make inappropriate comments on a regular basis.
This social media has allowed me access to the club, I'm afraid. Oh, I'm aware that no one has ever really broken my heart. That would be murder, wouldn't it?
When I'm not whining about my failed romance it seems that I'm pointing out my lack of success in the rock'n'roll business.
Oh, I don't have anything against losers. I won't say that some of my best friends are losers but you know what I'm thinking. Wink.
If anything it's the successful ones that fascinate me and it's their stories that break my heart. It doesn't take Margaret Mead to tell you that Elvis was loved. Heck, I loved him. My mom loved him. The fact that he was sucked down that lonely path to the real Heartbreak Hotel is the part that gets me.
I know what he wanted. It didn't really exist. I know what I want.
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