A third of the year is in the final stages of being buried under a himalayan load of bovine excreta. While one has no trouble ignoring a slight smattering of guano, aggregation of the said guano tends to get ones attention, sooner or later. Spewing forth crud, gets to one.
It's no longer clear how to distinguish the puppet from the puppeteer. It seems like a mesh of puppet(eers) each exerting an influence on the other, switching roles periodically. The Puppet-Master set is the empty set. It was all illusion.
e-crud seems to be on the up. May 11th might be a good day to end that. It was the 11th of May that started it, after all.
Surrounded by the tube trains of work, parties, trips, books, birdy pics etcetera? Where have all the people with the ideas gone? Where are the chaps who not merely live reality, but invent it? Might it be that their realm is cut off from the circles of the bum-o-sphere? Would such a person need companionship? Would his peanut alone satiate him?
Conversation is a Dead Marsh. Don't follow the lights. tricksy... Give me an equation instead of conversation. But, hark! I hear orc drums. Dinner with an orc...
Stop reading this drivel; behold a musician, a detective, a creator...
urped by gumz @ 8:07 PM
