Get Off and imagine the Club 11 warehouse pulsing unstoppable techno beats.
I didn’t want to spend my time writing about the burnt toast or the dull itch under one of my armpits. So, I started imagining Club 11 Nightclub, as part of a dream from my picaresque novel, and it’s really a great story that I worked on for decades. Music can make a story better… I research more. I really need to simply get off and edit. But before I edit, I merely want to get off by listening to more music for the terribly stoked mind. Now I’ve reached the end of the internet. There’s a sign there that says GET OFF. It’s a targeted ad. People who know me best know I want to get Off. Just to keep the mosquitoes from biting me to death after a long day. The only way to rock around the house in my space with commentary or without.