Saturday, January 16

Murphy compares notes on what it means to exist

Babycakes, I'm breathing fire.
My planet is running out of air and you're building your strange, chimerical, smog-belching factories all over it, you're convincing me your love is distance and I'm too afraid to ruin the surprise.

Friday, January 8

I like the smell of cologne on young boys a lot. Something about these children smelling like men makes me happy, and I'm not going to pursue that train of thought any further. This year, the alleged year of happiness, is off to a strange start with a lot of severe discontentment at lack of clarity on what to do with the life and the paucity of perfumed love. So I'm going to stop bleating about the year of happiness and be like a good parent and take the pressure off the very much beloved yet grossly underachieving offspring that 2010 is behaving like. Is the grammar on that sentence correct? I'm going back to work next week, I'm accepting all lewd and clumsy advances from little boys who smell like men, I'm coming full circle, I'm trying not to offend anyone.

So I'm leaving the ball pretty much in 2010's court, it can choose to do pretty much whatever the hell it wants to. I never knew being passive could be such tedious work. This is pretty much the perfect time to break out my super fun addiction to speed and my debilitating addiction to handbags.

Be good.