Thursday, April 22, 2010

I want a range life

Listen, I'm out here somewhere. (Chicka chicka.)

To talk my way through this, being, back, back, is like mr. thorn who barbs you on the recoil. You can hold a cactus in a bag but the bag becomes the cactus at some unidentifiable point between west Texas and California. And ow. And who knew how many mountains rose up between me and my language facility. I'll water it.

So the Afikomen didn't pan out in the California gold rush. I'll tell you what did pan out: seeing two Combination-Pizza-Hut-Taco-Bells within five minutes on an L.A. drive. I am in the world.

Quest for spirit animal? Ongoing. Cuts, blisters, burns, barbs? Check. Lizards? Fastest motherfuckers on the planet. Lizardly intimidation techniques? Rapid pushups--also potentially a mating maneuver. Conclusion? Eli into lizards, lizards into getting off by being chased by humans over volcanic rock formations.

Pursuit of spirit animal is a vaguely sexual endeavor. Ick. Coyote should have used Droid. Shouldn't have pursued roadrunner in first place. Should have taken LSD and gone off on his own. Is it ever sunset in the cartoon? Is Coyote the King of It? Twine comes down.

Highlight of Coachella: Stephen Malkmus impersonating Devo; Devo impersonating Devo.

"It's not Easter until you have titties in your face."--strip club solicitor in New Orleans

Jellyfish who you're high to look at.

Signed,

E

1 comment:

  1. i liked the embedded links and think you should use them more often. i am glad that god has safely delivered you in his cupped hands back into our collective bulbous bosom.

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