the people on this thing
Dear The People On This Thing,
This is a strange place, the Internet. It's made us strange people I think.
In the last few days, I've been getting new glimpses into tender sides of people on my friends page. Some of you people got earnest and honest or I drank it in *more. It is true. I kinda wanna call people out by name and do several shout outs, but I won't. I'll take a tip from this one chick, who lets us all think we're the subject of her poetry.
Na fuck that :)
Tree, you're so amazing. Penpusher, you too. And that damn ninja. Well, damn you guys.
And the rest of you. Thanks for some of you being real people and putting it out there despite the commercial and usery grossness of it all. (And when I say all of it, I do mean it all. <-- I WROTE THIS MUCH!) And the risk. Oh the risks.
What of our current and future employers. What of big brother.
I got flowers today from the gardener here at the radio station. It was an amazing moment in life. She told me that I had fucked up in front of everyone but that I'm getting better and that I'm almost really good. We wanted to cry. At work.
I'll post a picture of the flowers at some point. They're on my desk.
This amazing gooey session with April was made even more amazing by the fact that the last time I got a present from her, it was a really angry note about how my dog "DOES NOT BELONG HERE," after he destroyed her gardening supplies in the locked alley around the side of KPFA. Apparently gardeners use crushed up bone to feed the plants? And dogs like bones like comedians like cocaine apparently.
This entry is embarrassing. I'll probably delete it later. But anyway, it's where things are at and I'm admitting it. Coming clean for a quick minute.
For now,
Rose
This is a strange place, the Internet. It's made us strange people I think.
In the last few days, I've been getting new glimpses into tender sides of people on my friends page. Some of you people got earnest and honest or I drank it in *more. It is true. I kinda wanna call people out by name and do several shout outs, but I won't. I'll take a tip from this one chick, who lets us all think we're the subject of her poetry.
Na fuck that :)
Tree, you're so amazing. Penpusher, you too. And that damn ninja. Well, damn you guys.
And the rest of you. Thanks for some of you being real people and putting it out there despite the commercial and usery grossness of it all. (And when I say all of it, I do mean it all. <-- I WROTE THIS MUCH!) And the risk. Oh the risks.
What of our current and future employers. What of big brother.
I got flowers today from the gardener here at the radio station. It was an amazing moment in life. She told me that I had fucked up in front of everyone but that I'm getting better and that I'm almost really good. We wanted to cry. At work.
I'll post a picture of the flowers at some point. They're on my desk.
This amazing gooey session with April was made even more amazing by the fact that the last time I got a present from her, it was a really angry note about how my dog "DOES NOT BELONG HERE," after he destroyed her gardening supplies in the locked alley around the side of KPFA. Apparently gardeners use crushed up bone to feed the plants? And dogs like bones like comedians like cocaine apparently.
This entry is embarrassing. I'll probably delete it later. But anyway, it's where things are at and I'm admitting it. Coming clean for a quick minute.
For now,
Rose