That’s great, it starts with an earthquake, birds and snakes, an aeroplane –
Lenny Bruce is not afraid. Eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn –
world serves its own needs, regardless of your own needs. Feed it up a knock,
speed, grunt no, strength no. Ladder structure clatter with fear of height,
down height. Wire in a fire, represent the seven games in a government for
hire and a combat site. Left her, wasn’t coming in a hurry with the furies
breathing down your neck. Team by team reporters baffled, trump, tethered
crop. Look at that low plane! Fine then. Uh oh, overflow, population,
common group, but it’ll do. Save yourself, serve yourself. World serves its
own needs, listen to your heart bleed. Tell me with the rapture and the
reverent in the right – right. You vitriolic, patriotic, slam, fight, bright
light, feeling pretty psyched.
First bands of Dolly’s body moves in early today. I’m still waiting. I hate hurricanes, but never lived through one. Most of them happened before I was born, or just sideswipes from hurricanes. I’m bending myself out of shape because I hate storms, I hate tornadoes, I hate lightning, I hate everything that comes with the storm.
In other news, I got my issue of Imprimis today. Guess who’s inside. Give up? Michelle Malkin. Oh, how I’ve grown tired of the bitch. You know, the irony is, in the perfect world that she invisions for the good old US of A, she’d be in the kitchen cooking me some lunch. Tough idealism, isn’t it Malkin?