March 11, 2012

It Winds in Both Directions

End. Madness. Ice. Signs. Singing. Deluge, deluge, deluge.

Deee-sexy in the heart.

Deee-scrumptious in my belly if my belly weren't so sad.

A weekend of ideas that could power an entire year.

Monkeys. Typewriters. Handcuffs. Ash trays. The 70s.

Blot out your tremors.

Did a stentasaurus ever walk the earth?

I've walked many miles in my shoes, but not this particular pair.

I've never had these shoes on Bourbon Street either.

I bought them with euros.

Can you see me kicking back on a yatch in a Polo windbreaker? It'd have to be yellow. And aviators. No shoes. Turks & Caicos. Dollar bills -- lots and lots of 'em.

I just don't see it.

I want to be seafaring people. But more I want to be good people.

I'm not built for single servings.

If famine comes, I usually tell people within a year of meeting them, kill me first. I burn hot.

I'm a waste machine.

I'm telling you this now to save time later.

Time we'll use on shared strengths or foraging.

I wish I had smarter shirts.

I wish I was comfortable wearing a hat.

But at least I have these eyelashes and a gift for gab.