The Pressure of One G

I believe that lovers should be tied together and thrown into the ocean in the worst of weather.  I am post-thatisgoingtobethetitleofmynextblogpost.  Like a twice a year thing, like when I always don't have time.  Which is nothing, really, more than less a difference in perception, evolutionary cartesianism, more or less; tabula rasa stopwatch, now stop and watch!

Pose for the camera, pause at the crossing for cross causes, curses and/or effects; what isn't worthy of trapping on digital film, when your head rubs mine, and we are so affected?  Cameras are definitely something of which it is worthwhile to be afraid.  While you're doing that, I'll be over here carving mathematical truth into an olive wood table in Mycenaean Greek, attested in linear B. Just solving the problems of my day, such as the nature of the female orgasm and the difference between humans and non-humans and the way back from our backwards modern education and how to out to those who care those fucking corporate smiles that have teeth as jagged as mine or as a shark or as a baby puppy dog, but with more metal.  I mean, do you know why your local grocery store campaigns for muscular dystrophy or multiple sclerosis or veterans?  They sell turnips off trucks but they are no dummy.

Speaking of dummy, I got things to do, like take a nap or have sex all day but not at the same time, sometimes.  See you next time.