Transitional Fossil

" The question isn't "who is going to let me"; it's "who is going to stop me".
Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

The temptation to take old stuff and put it in here is like asking myself, "Since I have this flour and have no idea how long its's been there, should I use it anyway??"
Oh the click-clack of ideas trying to become something else by crashing one another. Kissing under a tree in the rain, but was it really raining. Then I found us in the bathroom staring at one another through the thickening air. Yea, it's a moment like this that i really need.

Coming to the need of something I need what do I need?? Do I need the bread or the wine?? it is the wine, flowing down the stream of a liquid diet and ending up in the river of saliva drolling towards a greasy spoon for those runny eggs. Have you got a straw or a rolled up $1.

Wrinkles in the fly paper make the fly nervous and near-sighted when he knows he going to die.

"This box will fit through there", I think to myself everytime. Sometimes It sqeezes by and other times it does not. What's the determining factor?? Well, I'm not really sure sure. Because everything has to have a double meaning even if it's the same. Because we can't say what we mean anymore. It's all just a metaphor for something else:

"i love you" = our genes match
"you suck" = you have something i don't
"be more professional" = be like me
"shut up" = stop making me think
"make it a great day" = be full of shit, all, day

So anyway, whether your shaving under the weight of forced economism or slicing your callouses off in the bathroom or getting your first taste of uncut honeycomb under the Australian sun.

Make it a great day, fuckers!!


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