as directed i am pimping a friend who needs your vote. what's at stake here is his new URL, a very critical decision. it would be better to just go there and ignore the fact i've gone mad in the more area. quite mad, in fact, but it's for theraputic purposes only. look, i keep insect corpses as pets, what did you expect? sheesh.
my mind is an island unto itself, with a cozy little cottage on the east end, balmy breezes & all & more: there's dry rot in the fish pond, an author in the cellar, a fire in the hall (i'm eyeing you suspiciously here); i've got rats holed up in walls, chickens in the kitchen (they sure can stir-fry a mean houseguest), but wouldn't you know it i'm outta wine. entropy like crazy like a snail trail across the salt flats like two, two, two mints will get you twenty anyday now. & no matter how hard i wish to fry, i still cannot summon even one inner reptilian alien.
which would be where i'd find the answer, i'm sure, however i decided instead to go mad. & so i have. quite mad. on the day of bad hair, in the time of spilled beer, nostradamus shall be channeled in california, like wingnuts on roses & flippers on kittens. bright cotton weevils & warm gerbils smitten, brown packaged sausages tied & ordained, these are a few things & i can't complain. when the frog bites, when the bee flings, when i'm feeling plaid, i simply go mad. period.
inner. reptilian. alien. remember that part, it makes more sense than you'd expect. no hallucinogens were ingested in the making of this entry, isn't that scary?
Where is this coming from? Can I join you there? I want to live there, but all I get are glimpses.
i know it's possible to live there, but i think that requires wearing seven coats in july & arguing with shrubbery. probably best to be content just visiting.
not that i don't argue with shurbbery, it's just the coats. & the shopping cart. i hate those things.
I think wearing seven coats at once would make me look too fat.
i'm sure that would be the least of worries, what with that shrubbery so argumentative & all.
...and there are bees in the shubbery. That's why they are so argumentative!
...and you put Chrispy in the preview!!!
Wonderfulness abounds...
try not typing anything in the box, & click submit, where you'll meet the error bee.
the coats and the shrubbery, little monuments of inspiration. but what of the nights, doth their armour shine? insanity is but a state of someone else's mind, my dear. your quite sane, trust me, i know. there is nothing wrong with dry rotted ponds , and cottages with writers in cellars and fires in the hall, chickens dicing and glassed in insects. nothing wrong at all. it's the quite un-inventive ones who are mad i say. the ones who sit quietly in sterile white houses, with glassed in hearts. the ones who keep reems upon reems of white paper left untouched, never to be graced with thought or idea. it all resides up in their heads, culminating, like some evil storm, till one day they snap, rabid, and bloody and mad.
that is so true, munin. also, i believe there really is no crazy, there are only philosophical differences. hell, there are existential concepts listed as diagnoses in in the DSM 4.
i've also often suspected that people society classifies as insane, are maybe just too close to the truth. you know, the Truth.
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pttttthhhbbbt.