- Sky Meadows State Park, Paris Virginia, Sunday past, fine metaphors abounding, moo-less in my cage of universal duh, this post a placeholder, I insist it's not filler, tag or no tag stapled to my Doctor Sevrin ears, go ahead, report me for not showing up to work and make me starve or die
- Virus of mass destruction
- The new and improved plague
- Deaths of despair
- Dunning-Kruger Affect
- Leviathan in lockdown
- We're not in this together
- Chapter 20 This Incredible Sex Comedy
- On the Maggie Smith poem below
- I've heard two songs off the new X album, the first in thirty years, so far their best album in 40 years
Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,right? You could make this place beautiful.