stop making sense, it's unbecoming, unladylike and unmanly, merely dreary sanity, skinnyfat, pimply wisdom - that's just the way it is, that's just the way i am, i took out life insurance, it's my policy, see'n's'how honesty's on the blink, but money will serve to quantify things
9/25/13
9/20/13
ck-ck-ck-ckyeah, baby!
i got nothing to say
but i'm gonna say nothing in the form of a hat dance
i got nothing to say, but i'm gonna say things anyway
okay, that's about enough on nothing - about enough, but not exactly enough
i got nothing to say, but i got rid of all the drafts in a blog caulking project on a tight schedule, sewing a pant leg onto a patch, it'll make a good pauper's rag, if i know anything about that, which i don't, but maybe i'll get lucky
i bumped down the clown, dr. rockso in case you didn't know, the rock 'n roll clown from metalocalypse - i meant to write a post about how i often feel like dr. rockso when he's on that sea-saw of trying to go straight-edge, then caving in to crazy, but i'm not much of a writer of words lately, i'm just mooshing around the idea like a lump of stress putty, keeping hands busy on something pointless when they could be getting projects ready for deadlines instead, but i'm not feeling it now, not feeling like i got the words i need, for said projects, so fuck it, i'll moosh around an idea instead that's almost formed enough to be a good song or even better, an epic blog post, how long's it been since that happened? too long - it's almost there, that lump, but not quite, instead it's a monstrous tumour, but good news, it's benign!
i got nothing to say, but i got rid of all the drafts in a blog caulking project on a tight schedule, sewing a pant leg onto a patch, it'll make a good pauper's rag, if i know anything about that, which i don't, but maybe i'll get lucky
i bumped down the clown, dr. rockso in case you didn't know, the rock 'n roll clown from metalocalypse - i meant to write a post about how i often feel like dr. rockso when he's on that sea-saw of trying to go straight-edge, then caving in to crazy, but i'm not much of a writer of words lately, i'm just mooshing around the idea like a lump of stress putty, keeping hands busy on something pointless when they could be getting projects ready for deadlines instead, but i'm not feeling it now, not feeling like i got the words i need, for said projects, so fuck it, i'll moosh around an idea instead that's almost formed enough to be a good song or even better, an epic blog post, how long's it been since that happened? too long - it's almost there, that lump, but not quite, instead it's a monstrous tumour, but good news, it's benign!
that being said, the envelope lost a few nodes, the line's dotted, the model train's off track... and a person got shot in my dreams - i surveyed the happening like an odd god on the nod - i'd settle for dreams if that's all i can get after death, but that's probably asking too much - still, i'll call, i'll put my dreams on the table, i've got to leave it to a settled pile of shuffled cards, i'm not the master of my own destiny, i'll make a life out of that defeatist principle, write a sensitive folk song along those lines, die in delirium when it rolls around to that, and have a hang over on the ledge below the edge - an encore of looking for the black cat that isn't there, but it's about the stumble in the dark, not the non-destination
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