how nice
Today I have sustained hope for the future, due largely to a series of convenient coincidences, the details of which are too mundane to warrant sharing. That is good. Spring is a brighter time and I see the hues of life more vividly for the sun; mostly I am seeing green and yellow, which is convenient, as they are my two favorite colors, and when considering the color spectrum in terms of frequency, they are the centermost colors, which perhaps speaks of moderation, and I don't know why I'd be into that...I am not moderate, but perhaps I am not polarized.
Enough...I will psychoanalyze my favorite colors no longer.
I would like a new song to sing. One that is chilly like a frozen river, but not like the frozen river you see in winter, but like the frozen river you remember in summer, when your hair is wet with sweat and you can feel the tingle of a sun burn growing along the edges of cut-off t-shirts.
I read a book that was soaked in orange juice today, I got it from the author while sitting in an office cubicle dedicated to internet porn. There is no hidden metaphor in the previous sentence. The book is Songs of Insurgency by Spencer Dew, the office was Mr. Skin and I was drinking whisky and miller lite at the time. The orange juice is from 7-11 and I spilled it in my bag. Ooops. The book is great. I recommend it. I daresay one of the first works of literature to capture the bittersweet nostalgia, the post-traumatic stress perhaps, of the twilight of eight years of Bush reign. As such it makes very little good common sense, which is fine, because otherwise I wouldn't trust it.
Also, THE2NDHAND, that stalwart national literary concern for which I serve as an editor, has been sponsored by a soapmaker. We have our own brand of soap. That being said, I haven't showered in something like 4 days.
A few days ago I fell asleep watching Ace Ventura, when I woke up there were soap operas on. I watched them for an hour. I rather enjoyed it. I would not mind writing for soap operas, but I don't know that I care enough to try and land that gig. But if I am ever out at a bar mingling with soap opera producers and one of them throws an offer my way, I will take it. Maybe I should move to California so that the likelihood of this will increase. Plus then I will never see frozen rivers, I will only dream of them.
Good night.
Enough...I will psychoanalyze my favorite colors no longer.
I would like a new song to sing. One that is chilly like a frozen river, but not like the frozen river you see in winter, but like the frozen river you remember in summer, when your hair is wet with sweat and you can feel the tingle of a sun burn growing along the edges of cut-off t-shirts.
I read a book that was soaked in orange juice today, I got it from the author while sitting in an office cubicle dedicated to internet porn. There is no hidden metaphor in the previous sentence. The book is Songs of Insurgency by Spencer Dew, the office was Mr. Skin and I was drinking whisky and miller lite at the time. The orange juice is from 7-11 and I spilled it in my bag. Ooops. The book is great. I recommend it. I daresay one of the first works of literature to capture the bittersweet nostalgia, the post-traumatic stress perhaps, of the twilight of eight years of Bush reign. As such it makes very little good common sense, which is fine, because otherwise I wouldn't trust it.
Also, THE2NDHAND, that stalwart national literary concern for which I serve as an editor, has been sponsored by a soapmaker. We have our own brand of soap. That being said, I haven't showered in something like 4 days.
A few days ago I fell asleep watching Ace Ventura, when I woke up there were soap operas on. I watched them for an hour. I rather enjoyed it. I would not mind writing for soap operas, but I don't know that I care enough to try and land that gig. But if I am ever out at a bar mingling with soap opera producers and one of them throws an offer my way, I will take it. Maybe I should move to California so that the likelihood of this will increase. Plus then I will never see frozen rivers, I will only dream of them.
Good night.