My barber's on her honeymoon.

Lucii's eye surgery via laser and convalescence from rhinoplasty.

Cycles of syntax.
Syntactically correct phrasing, like feeding a ship the day's orders.

Activating the trauma schedule
This is an attempt to cheer you up with flatline synapse banter.

Add 271 to nine you get 280 for 68 minutes of freefall politics
Debate without conscience nor purpose
terminate in midstatement, without recovering from the offensive.

"We're sorry. The number you have dialed cannot be reached through this terminal."

       I have better things to do.

Enough for a quickie til the hour without overworking the compressors
Crickets and bayou indigo dusk, bless your eyes, chile
Was I even serious in playing devil's advocate?
Hardly matters if the battle's been decided.

I spent the entire day in cryostasis,
the inflight movie was an aggressively retro-fit chronological xenobiology.
REM only if by request, otherwise grant full untroubled rest 
and nestled within a blanket of white noise to keep out the bogeys.

Afterwhich I realize in drowsy half-consciousness - and my global pulses the alarm.
The past is a specter from which we will not ever be granted freedom.
And a few other random bits and pieces, a pattern obvious in the randomness.
The Zen and Tao and everything else was just one big mindgame they played on us.

But I am nothing without my programming. There are stores for the newer ones.
Without guilt, anxiety, or any trace negativity. Just bliss. Blather no conscience.

China White used to be all right late at night. Like white on rice. Everyday was rice.
 

last up 04 05 +1 @ 15 44