Saturday, August 21, 2010

There's No Soap. Radio.

An old friend came to the other one and requested enlivening and (snap) like that there came a non-static response with all the features in place. I could stand on my head, spit the proverbial wooden nickels, and I would not get the time of day. It is precisely because I think and speak in clichés that that situation obtains, but I haven’t the wherewithal to chance beyond my preset borders. One day, and it’s coming soon; I can feel it, I will implode for the lack of gravity in my own heart. I do not mean to be parasitical, but having been born only the day before yesterday, it may take months, or years, before I can walk in the shoes purchased on spec. The greatest freedom I can endure at this time is the happiness resulting from wiggling the toes of my unshod feet, and then, only while they dangle behind the eyes of my own subconscious if such a thing exists.

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