Orbits
and conjugates, cigarettes and synchronicity
Is there a Dylan
Is there a bog
Is that a kitten
Shitting in my shoe?
The trajectory is fixed when you're perched on a tram
Trying to outthink
The rabble in your head
Is there a Dylan
Is there a bog
Is that a kitten
Shitting in my shoe?
The trajectory is fixed when you're perched on a tram
Trying to outthink
The rabble in your head
He is like
a parrot who's lost the use of its wings but nonetheless thinks it experiences
the sensation of flying because the cage he is in has been thrown out of the
window of a huge skyscraper and is hurtling towards the ground. When he bursts
into a blue and cherry feather bled little parrot bomb as he contracts against
the pavement, all the mysteries of the universe will momentarily reveal
themselves to him and he will experience the infinite tranquillity and
quintessential epiphany of annihilation, simultaneous to the fact of his beak
tearing itself off of his face and reemerging through a new hole where his arse
once was.
Existential postulates don't come much prettier than that.
Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth in John Singer Sergeant's celebrated painting could've crowned the patch of visceral confetti where a parrot used to be in the iconic manner the painting depicts, sort of mocking the modern tendency to elevate the trivial and focus on the banal.
But where does that leave our heroes?
I dunno! I don't have the power to introspect today.
Existential postulates don't come much prettier than that.
Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth in John Singer Sergeant's celebrated painting could've crowned the patch of visceral confetti where a parrot used to be in the iconic manner the painting depicts, sort of mocking the modern tendency to elevate the trivial and focus on the banal.
But where does that leave our heroes?
I dunno! I don't have the power to introspect today.
Last night’s
typhoon has wiped me out like a palm tree.
sent from my iphone (i typed this deliberately)
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