The Fantastic Voyage of the Red Right Hand
Today I have been a bald cleaning machine, archiving the life out of documents past, sorting accepted documents past from rejected documents past, marking in handier nooks which issue accepted articles appeared in. And now my mousing hand aches red.
Last night the last time I saw the clock was at 9:14 pm. The next time I saw the clock was at 6:23 am. This is unusual for an expert, though healing, insomniac. Sleeping like that might be healthy, though my first instinct when that happens is that I’m coming down with something. I suppose it’s time to climb the red stirrer to the top and set sights on healthy and less extreme sleep patterns, a quaint Sunday pedal as opposed to a midnight fufanu. Sleeping sound is a cushion that grandma made.
Driving to work this morning I was again naively surprised by the lack of awareness shown by the drivers. I say this fully acknowledging my mind’s proclivity toward visiting past and future scenes while my body operates my car. An ambulance wailed up from behind. About ten cars back people noticed and pulled over. Not until the ambulance reached its back end did the car behind me pull over. Later I watched an SUV bull itself at the car ahead of it, which was going about half the speed of the SUV. There were cars in front and on the left of this car and no exit or shoulder on the right. Where did this SUV think it was going? It slammed on its breaks and rode the ass of the car in front of it until it reached its exit. All of that to get where it was going no faster than if it had just zenned its way to the exit. Shoot the brandy and take a deep breath, pal.
Complaining about traffic and drivers is ho-hum because it’s all the same. I tried to stop myself but I did it anyway. In the end, I’m just a damned human.
Try the mirror backwards, she suggested. Or eat raisins.
New word: pharmacognosy: the study of sources of drugs.
Today’s prize junk work-mail comes from Jose Brown, sent Wed 3/2/2005 at 8:41 pm, subject line re[9]:. The text of the message is as follows:
Am I right? No, not now. Jobs Fantastic!
Powerball transit visa
Again, I feel like I’m eavesdropping, getting only pieces of a conversation spoken in broken English. Powerball transit visa! Ole! Vive la chance! See beyond the horizon, quit your job and play the lottery. It's a fantastic voyage.
Last night the last time I saw the clock was at 9:14 pm. The next time I saw the clock was at 6:23 am. This is unusual for an expert, though healing, insomniac. Sleeping like that might be healthy, though my first instinct when that happens is that I’m coming down with something. I suppose it’s time to climb the red stirrer to the top and set sights on healthy and less extreme sleep patterns, a quaint Sunday pedal as opposed to a midnight fufanu. Sleeping sound is a cushion that grandma made.
Driving to work this morning I was again naively surprised by the lack of awareness shown by the drivers. I say this fully acknowledging my mind’s proclivity toward visiting past and future scenes while my body operates my car. An ambulance wailed up from behind. About ten cars back people noticed and pulled over. Not until the ambulance reached its back end did the car behind me pull over. Later I watched an SUV bull itself at the car ahead of it, which was going about half the speed of the SUV. There were cars in front and on the left of this car and no exit or shoulder on the right. Where did this SUV think it was going? It slammed on its breaks and rode the ass of the car in front of it until it reached its exit. All of that to get where it was going no faster than if it had just zenned its way to the exit. Shoot the brandy and take a deep breath, pal.
Complaining about traffic and drivers is ho-hum because it’s all the same. I tried to stop myself but I did it anyway. In the end, I’m just a damned human.
Try the mirror backwards, she suggested. Or eat raisins.
New word: pharmacognosy: the study of sources of drugs.
Today’s prize junk work-mail comes from Jose Brown, sent Wed 3/2/2005 at 8:41 pm, subject line re[9]:. The text of the message is as follows:
Am I right? No, not now. Jobs Fantastic!
Powerball transit visa
Again, I feel like I’m eavesdropping, getting only pieces of a conversation spoken in broken English. Powerball transit visa! Ole! Vive la chance! See beyond the horizon, quit your job and play the lottery. It's a fantastic voyage.
1 Comments:
You certainly have a lot of variety in your junk emails.
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