Lay say fair

French pronounce words stay up late.

Get the vowels in order for internet radio.

taffy

lazy.
chewy.
sunday.
rain.

Bad hangover
C said I should not drink whiskey.

Sometimes she's off and sometimes she's on.

She was off.
Rum=worse.

How to be a hypocrite at home

Ultimately, I feel at such an impasse today.

How to be a hypocrite in Gainesville.

Step one: Eat vegetarian dinner on styrofoam plate.

Step two: Bike to computer labs through sprinkler system despite the days rainstorm.

general objective: renew sense of purpose with Classic and destroy new philosophy by taking 10 minutes out of day and talking shit about local anarchist bicycle punk/hippie with spookishly adorable girlfriend surgically attached to his penis that criticizes the people who have to work for the man to make a living while doing so comfortably on his parents' dollar.


back to Microsoft word, with which I am currently processing words, on the stunning Mac OS X.

wonder why the fuck this town needs more cyclists on track bikes riding home wasted from the downtown bars late at night, while criticizing those who drive home from mid-town in the same condition.

lame-core

are you hot?


All in all, probably the least stressful family extravaganza I've ever experienced. It was, honestly, fun.

Dancing, drinking, eating, merriment, picture taking, future planning, totals in so much so much so much so much perfect.

Saw Prairie Home Companion avec maman and zee girls. I liked it. No major complaints. It was like watching an episode that you'd usually listen to.

Now, I wait for Hazel.

Finished the Welsh novel. Mmm. I speculated the ending from a mile away, but as the plot progressed, I put my theory on the back burner. The way in which the resolution came out was.....trite....but it was a noble effort on Irvine's part. His first forray into magical realism.

I call it Drug Literature.

Queztal's acting demonic. I let her out of her cage earlier and she started pushing pictures off the top shelf of the desk.

I'd call her a bitch, but she's a bird.

Whoaley Moley

It's been too long since I've let this blog become overrun with pesky spam.

It's time to weed out the comment spam and revitalize what was once Bad teenaged poetry.

I have a new sense of meter and purpose. Life continues to go on.

What do you do for a living?

Paradox. and I'm not talking about a couple of doctors.

One thing I love about the English Department is this underlying competition to see modernity in a different way than someone else. Deconstruction is so much fun, sometimes, you know?

There's this hierarchy in almost every aspect of my life. When did life get out of the black and white television era?

There's life, lived. And then there is death. Live and Die, that is what we all do for a living.

The power of this one fact, this one truth, is indeed that is the one thing that we know for sure is coming down the road. So the grey area in between? That's the road you choose.
Will it be the Autobahn? Perhaps Krome Avenue? How does the Florida Turnpike sound to you? County Road 23 in New Mexico? Some dirt path in the mountains of Tibet? And just why is one any better than the other? We assign arbitrary importance to things that to me, seem innately ridiculous. I have a difficult time of accepting why we would do something that seems so trivial. I think this comes off as nihilism.
We belive in nah-sing, Lebowski.

hello (hello, hello)

is there anybody out there? just nod if you can here me. is there anyone at all?

Isn't it funny how you can get into the habit of thinking you're completely protected in one of the most publicized forums of the world.

I'm going to try my hardest to have an excellent weekend, but I don't think y'all deserve an update. So you'll just have to imagine all the fun I'm having.