That's great. THanks for the tip and great blog site. It's also great to do bourbon shots and eat bacon grease off the skillet once it's congealed and then sing your "club music lyrics" till you're blue in the face and as blood clots stick behind your knees and your arteries balloon with Xstasy and your go go whistles and glo-sticks spin round n round your head (naturally, I thought. But why?) as you, Harriet Miers and the Mad Hatter all wrestle together in a vat of chocolate pudding, all the while as Freedom Williams flexes his steel on empty barrels and factorworks or was it Kraftwerk while Corona croons to the Rhythm of the Night and behold one like the Son of Sam standing within seven molten grandstands while Sammy Sosa weeps in the corner at what could have, no, should have, been and you hear the words written in the clouds and written on your heart asking, Is it about the DMZ or Run DMC, but you forget whether Pyongyang could dance or whether it was kings from Queens who were raising hell, promping Dante of the Alighieri faction, sitting at table 47 to your right, to toss you a bone, wrapped in newspaper, and smelling of smelling salts, which grew roots and sprouted itself into a Shaggy, pot smoking bear which roared and you fell back off the atlas shrugged and into a can of Warhol's Campbell's soup (naturally, I thought. But why?)
I'm swinging life away at school studying religion and theology and social theory and philosophy and and and it all runs together anyway.
Please don't hold me to some standard of erudition or critical accuracy here. These are my casual rantings and shoot from the hip mass analyses. They are pseudo-intellectual and pseudo-"scientific" and sloppy and silly.
This is a place for me to vent knee-jerk intuitions, present ridiculous speculations, and simply connect with you virtually, which is to say, really.
5 comments:
That's great. THanks for the tip and great blog site. It's also great to do bourbon shots and eat bacon grease off the skillet once it's congealed and then sing your "club music lyrics" till you're blue in the face and as blood clots stick behind your knees and your arteries balloon with Xstasy and your go go whistles and glo-sticks spin round n round your head (naturally, I thought. But why?) as you, Harriet Miers and the Mad Hatter all wrestle together in a vat of chocolate pudding, all the while as Freedom Williams flexes his steel on empty barrels and factorworks or was it Kraftwerk while Corona croons to the Rhythm of the Night and behold one like the Son of Sam standing within seven molten grandstands while Sammy Sosa weeps in the corner at what could have, no, should have, been and you hear the words written in the clouds and written on your heart asking, Is it about the DMZ or Run DMC, but you forget whether Pyongyang could dance or whether it was kings from Queens who were raising hell, promping Dante of the Alighieri faction, sitting at table 47 to your right, to toss you a bone, wrapped in newspaper, and smelling of smelling salts, which grew roots and sprouted itself into a Shaggy, pot smoking bear which roared and you fell back off the atlas shrugged and into a can of Warhol's Campbell's soup (naturally, I thought. But why?)
Stop trying to be a vegetarian and be a vegetarian.
Wow. I'm convicted to become a vegetarian again. Why don't I just convert? Ugh. I'm frustrated with myself.
mmmm....meat...*drool*
MET- Stop trying to rib a vegetarian and just eat one.
Post a Comment