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I want to
put this moment in my pocket and make a plaster cast to hang above my bed leaving the actual moment to languish on a shelf so I can dust it every day and behold its radiance
spin this moment into fine gold thread and weave it into sailcloth and use it to catch the wind and set my raft into motion
- -and use the remainder to sew together quilt pieces and wrap it around me when the wind gets harsh
sublimate this moment and keep the vapour in an ornamental carafe to spray on my pulse points in formal situations
shape this moment with soft laser light and form the moment into rose-colored lenses to permanently obscure and define my vision
hide this moment under my mattress and read it in times of desperation as a reminder of sweet guilty reality
crystallize this moment and stir it into bitter black coffee with a liberal dose of irish cream
paint a mirror to reflect this moment forever
wrap this moment around a globe so I might turn the moment this way and that, look at it from al
"Particleboard falls apart really easy. Those Styrofoam beds are impossible to sleep on. I can't stand the smell of Swedish food."
"Even the meatballs?"
"Even the meatballs."
"But they're so cute."
"Sure, they're cute. But every time we go there, I have premonitions of salmonella and e coli infections. You know what they say. In Mexico, don't drink the water. In Sweden, don't eat squished up pieces of animal flesh."
"It's not my fault that you have something against Scandinavians."
"I have nothing against Scandinavians. I fucking love Scandinavians."
"Then what's the problem?"
"I love Scandinavians. I hate their futons."
"Why do I think futons aren't really the problem?"
"What the hell do you mean by that?"
"I think you're insecure about the size of your futon."
"I don't have a futon. It's impossible to find a good futon around here."
"No, I mean your futon futon."
"I think you're insecure because you think Scandinavian futons are maybe bigger and better. And you wish you had a S
Current music, new wave. Current mood, covert.
I'm doing it again, and the day hasn't even reached noon. How does one know that one's an addict? There has to be some kind of informal quiz. Question 1, do you indulge in the morning? Question 2, do you indulge alone?
Question 16, would you rather read popular literature than be intimate with your significant other?
At least I got one question right.
The latest faceless agent in a long line of unjudged covers, this new release, I have a vague understanding that it's called Noise. The author is Jeff Schumacher. He's the season's hot writer, the amateur sociologist and brand-name anarchist who goes with chilled chai lattes like pasta goes with white wine. Jeff Schumacher, he's the guy who wrote about the welfare dependent who intentionally gets trampled at WalMart.
And the demented pedophile librarian with irritable-bowel syndrome. And the airline stewardess who dabbles in voodoo and makes bombs out of stale peanuts in aluminum packets. Or
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More