Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Carpal Truths, Remembrances and Wishful Thinking

My Mak is ailing with hades-fever and bellicose-head, and I hate it that I am not Healer Magicus. Human plights reign and remind.

As he handed me my debit card receipt, the Eastern European gas station attendant asked me to be his friend, three times. Sure, I told him, but not because I like you. Because I like your many metallic teeth.

The Voxel delights eager minds. Thanks to Glomgold for direction.

No longer can I bear the woman next door speaking. A Viszla, I have lodged in her mouth; my door, I have shut. Brian Eno is cranked. Baby is on fire.

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Idea for TV: Cookie Talk; I and
another will engage in figurative cookie-speak intended to deeply alter the lives of those in earshot on multiple levels: psychological, interpersonal, emotional, sexual, financial, et cetera.

Example: An unknowing couple shuffle by with their cart and child in a grocery store, as CS1 and CS2 stand fixed in the cookie aisle.
CS1: So are you getting the cookies?
CS2: Why? Don’t you want to stand in the cookie aisle all night?
CS1: I’m bored with the cookie aisle. I want to leave.
CS2: Oh. I’ll get the grocery store brand peanut butter cookies for myself then.

Who needs Flavor Flav and his Scandinavian power bar? This is monumental.

*

I’ve got to stop saying things I don’t mean out of social skittishness. It’s masochistic, and that’s why I do it.

Monkeys will follow phenomenal dancers onto the floor.

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