I am almost disappointed that the new moby album is good. I had kinda planned on not getting it, because I don’t really like that song they’re playing on the radio.
one thing I really hate: when a weekend feels like work. Tasks for this weekend: get groceries, wash clothes. OK, that’s not that long a list, but Laura has about 20 things that she would like to tack onto it, plus, there are another 20 “fun” things we have scheduled (party tonight, unicycling and museum this afternoon…) I just feel crowded for time.
Here’s a poem I wrote a few days ago… this is 2.0, and much more coherent.
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“Give us today our daily commute.” -the faint
On the freeway swimming upstream toward work
morning after morning Hiroshima on 394
little pollution gas light on
velvet mufler–divine spedometer
nursing my clutch
addicted to airbag
humming to the radio
like some dashboard freekshow
safety-cracks in my sanity.
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the world is my crash-test-dummy. w00t.
when you marry, these things will seem like the good stuff, since it can get so much worse. The collective rules.
Sun 23:19