I spend a lot of time alone with myself. Four hours every night. I think things. I sift out the inane and blog the rest. If I didn't sift, my blog would be the mental equivalent of a bareass Camel cigarette; you'd cough and choke on the first drag, and promise yourself that you'll quit. Hell, you may do that anyway. But I filter it for you. For my trouble, I've developed the writer's equivalent of a smoker's dry hack - my brain coughs, but nothing ever comes up. There's always something hanging in my throat, waiting to be expelled. It gets worse when I lay down.

If I were truly brave, I'd just post what's below without this intro. And I'd get half a dozen comments that all say, "Wow, Linus is on crack. Hee hee." But I'm not brave, and you are all too smart for that. This cigarette is puffed by the finest minds that the liberal arts can muster. You scientists out there think back to that one Lit. class you took Freshman year and try to keep up, 'kay?

You wonder how bad unfiltered could be. You might like it. You might start tearing the filters off of regular blogs, just because you like that searing sensation. Feel free to modify the world to suit your PoMo expectations.

Light up and enjoy.


Sleep? Sleep is for the weak. No cell phone use in the lab. I can sleep when I'm dead. Which may be soon if I don't get some sleep. Why doesn't Outlook Express work? She looks tired too. Hand Sanitizer doesn't taste good at all. New combo on the lockbox. If I go around the lab and bump the mouse at each station, the whole room glows blue - pretty. Pretty Russian Girl is here. No cell phone use in the lab. Who invented the whole circle and slash means "not allowed" sign? Mary Daly is funny. Really funny. Laugh out loud so that the other people in the lab think you're demented kind of funny. Creepy Guy is looking at porn again. The Bábís got a raw deal. No cell phone use in the lab, monkey fucker. Must write poetry for the banquet. He's a big one - Strong Soviet Mother would like him. My knee hurts. I'm hungry. Dreadlock guy is waking up. He smells like clove cigarettes. What is on her ipod? The Janitor looks suicidal. Solitaire at 4:30 - man, is he bored. My profile is whacked. Aikida is hot. I'm going to shove that cell phone up his ass. Emu bit me today. Blood blisters are cool, in an ouchy sort of way. Ouchycool. Spring is good. So is sleep. But sleep is for the weak. Why is she here every night? Why am I here every night? Oh yeah, the money. Step away from the fucking cell phone, ass pony. If I had money, I could stay home and sleep. It's like buying sleep. But I don't have money. I spent it on Taco Bell. Why aren't they open right now?


Post a Comment