Author: shawn

…and he doesn’t rime with milk!
luscious and luxiorious. sad sad, no german words in my little brain. la. except the englishy ones.

A very simple breakdown of gasoline costs, suppliers and issues.

It’s worth checking out. I skimmed through it in about 5 minutes. Very succinct; plus seemingly links to more detailed resources.

stampede to the corral, you footsome mouthtasters!
ya, steal the book and read it: hurra hurra!

sorely: where’s all the byron gone? why’s it all scattered in pieces ’bout the place?

…but… i couldn’t help but be gasted by this groovy booktool.
library’s—open your stacks!

I’m back from a business trip on Oahu, visiting libraries and such. There was no internet access in my hotel room, sad to say. More on everything later.

pot-hatted, the green-fringed darlomook danced the cherubim from out the heavenly clavichord. justice, that grey miser, eeps out a strained discounting wonder, eh? there’s a wicked purle on the horizon. it’s called tempestuous odor and there’s not a soul in all the ages who can smell that whiff of… yah, that’s the ticket.

all aboard the halotrain. what the spikes and weavers have to tell us, no one knows. there’s a scattershot of buckles flying through the air–so don’t forget your monkeyhats.

the circles are excalating their vibrating spin and shards of heaven are flying everywhere, to that high-pitched whistle. who’d have thought that sound was pleasant, once upon a time? so the best bet is just ride it out, let the monsoon rage and then when the eye floats over us all: scoop up the flotsam that glisters to our eyes: A keyholed tin clock with a daisy pair of eyes for hands; all the uncles dancing on the head of a pin–all 53 of them; a fifteen by forty-two foot painting of scarpathia’s left ventricle; hoops and heaps of buttons and bonnets and bootcicles and booterys and beavers and blintzes and barbarypirates and beedles and buggers and bitters and blow; a grand experiment down at the Venusian Tunnel of Love.

All these things and many more than could ever be created or imagined or ticked off on a ledger. These are the things worth scooping up when the eye passes over us all and the storm swirls around us–just picture some fingerpainting with one blank spot on the page; all those vibrant colors of the rainbow. No pastels for me, thanks, I’m taken!

Memory: what a fragile thing!

Well, it is only made up of a cloud of electrochemical patterns after all….

I haven’t written much lately; I’ve been quite quite under the weather. Finally, pulling out of it a bit…

Superficially, this article is about “why nerds are unpopular”, but it also deals with the endemic structural problems with educational institutions in general. Which I tend to agree with. I thought junior and high school was a prison then and I think so now. The high school kids that I see on the public transit in the morning don’t seem particularly happy to be going there. They don’t seem like monsters either.

ye olde phlegm factory, been rarin’ all these past corple days. makes the head to sneezin.