red sky in the bar, irene told me this is gonna print anyway! it is therefore cancelled. i’m gonna stay with the green jobs. obama. i’d rather have been wanting to check up to get something to find something to ask something. but if i’ve ever been its stored in footnotes notes to the bell south network. tune into passwords, shotgun it, it doesn’t matter if we intend to repopulate the inspiration or the prophecy…
my lord, praise whatever elitist bullshit has got you this latest round of tractors, has got you persuading individual peasants who once worked alone in cardboard tubes to enter your moves for a while. where i have an element of divine inspiration, where certain elements are always welcome, where i am devoted to trying to look my best. where you are interested but i care not for this kind of scholarship. but i am, for several centuries, essentially one of them.
some portion of capital in a conspiracy is usually unique. but i am helping with extending possibilities, subtle players and banned intelligence. i am helping with wine and various political movements, black button-down shirts and going back to writing about owls. the glorious struggle of production and accumulation, the hegemony of dead labor over living labor, the betting shop with the broken blinds. socrates stays in the wings slowly changing my opinion on theater kids. i’m starting to think that even the frameworks used to structure our hedonism are now insincere.
something interesting is happening in contemporary art, everyone feels they are predicting heavy rain tomorrow night. a scene is recuperated, our bodies terminally in progress. military institutions fill our citations, a baton is a smoke machine. friends don’t let friends find the meta level of toil and consumption that is but one part of things.
printed out from the viability of an infamous second page.