Meatmachine.info

Dear Internet,
won’t you be mine?

I know I’ve been awful busy in real life lately, but you’re never far from my thoughts. Oh how I desire sweet respite, the kind of leisure that would allow me to dance my fingers across a keyboard and pour into you prosaic parcels of mine life.

I’d tell you of Portland, the little city that could. I’d recount the innumerable handmade bicycles polished almost to the point of fluorescence, the none too few bridges between buildings of appropriately modest heights.

I would regale you with kernels of the knowledge under my predation. How funny, you would think it, were I to quote the student who asked what Parmenides and Zeno would have thought, with their understanding of a finite indeterminate spherical unifying Being, of this student’s empty gas tank. How could it have been emptied though, responded the professor, if the motion of driving was but an empirical illusion? Chuckles, they were abound.

All this and more, Internet, if you would be mine.

For serious though? Work + School + Late night dark room hours = not much time for blagging. Failing my ability to find more hours for the day hidden beneath dirty laundry or behind the toilet paper in the bathroom closet, don’t expect anything too regular at this location. Fans of the (semi)daily covers should also hold their breath until I buy some new guitar strings.