cocaine is a hell of a drug

fuck abstract art, while i’ve got this thing turned on. richard serra can kiss my whole asshole. i want people to tell me about their observations/measurements of our shared world, specifically and exclusively in the english language, and, where appropriate, moving a/o still images or charts/graphs. i will accept and in some limited cases commission _translations_ into english or a corresponding language.

i spent some more of my appropriated capital improvement funds on:
personal upholstery (i bought a $58 work shirt, and two more less impressive but sober work shirts. also, am investing processor time in destroying the concept of a ‘work shirt’ and retooling what our general concept of ‘shirt’ is. special sneak McSecret preview: less buttondown collars but, in general, collars whenever needed or metaphysically possible. a more aggro, pitch-to-contact palette. no plaids, no prints unless really justified)

socks!
three pairs of underpants from old navy. one of them is native american-themed.

am presently thinking about the sociocultural weight that Bill Walsh pushed without anybody noticing. Jamal Lewis is on the cover of the Sports Illustrated and it got me cogitating on the continued present political realities that it is A) August B) true that I grew up in Berea, OH 44017 C) a certain season of the heart.

if i have to weary my eyes considering another young lady in a tank top (with visible bra straps) who isn’t listening to the Goldberg variations/ not worrying about whatever the feminine equivalency of Bill Walsh’s jouissance is/not being a fictional person that only i know the parameters thereof, i will continued to be slightly disappointed about my fate. what is the female Bill Walsh? i don’t know if we have a gravitational wave theory to know that. (hint: the female Bill Walsh is probably the guy who invented Snackwells devils food cake cookies notamisogynistjustcranky.org)

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