and now your host: obsolescence
So, in between putting on my sennheisers and forgetting to hit 'play' on anything within reach, rockin' out to the fried distance of electrical buzz and ghostly incidentals for hours (it is surprisingly soothing - try it!), I'll pop open soundforge and start writing music again. I have some ideas in that noggin' of mine, like a fish in the percolator, except these will probably taste worse. Let's see if I can finish something without having the finish line cross me this time. When you enter my room, don't be surprised at the cavalcade history of nascent projects and ideas that span either end, a gravitational ring of intellectual debris with me as its center - and I sure as hell ain't a tootsie pop. I need a garage, and not to stash dead babies in! These projects of mine will kill me in their abundance - I see them watching me late at night, eyes filled with Oedipus, gasping for closure. Or maybe that's the Bulleit in me.
The tax man cometh in all haste over the sandy desert of my income like a lit fuse. This is the first year I owe, Wesley Snipes-owe, due to profits I won't ever see but exist like childhood abuse on my returns. Can I return? I want your sweet, soothing light-green embrace once again Form 1040EZ - you and I were good, like Harold and Maude, playing animals-in-the-sky on fertile lawns of yearly refunds. The looming sense of adulthood just gained that much more substance, like fruit in the jello. Durian fruit, to be exact. Figures.
The tax man cometh in all haste over the sandy desert of my income like a lit fuse. This is the first year I owe, Wesley Snipes-owe, due to profits I won't ever see but exist like childhood abuse on my returns. Can I return? I want your sweet, soothing light-green embrace once again Form 1040EZ - you and I were good, like Harold and Maude, playing animals-in-the-sky on fertile lawns of yearly refunds. The looming sense of adulthood just gained that much more substance, like fruit in the jello. Durian fruit, to be exact. Figures.