Blasted machine broken. Give me paper and pencils. Sharp ones. So I can poke this thing's fucking eyes out! When life gives you lemons, find someone with a paper cut. Working on vacuuming and poetry and going back to school and photography (oh, the stories!) and having sex in real life (whoooppeee!). Hope to be back with good, dirty smut soon. Look! A merganser! And maybe even a plate of fresh plums and a story about my new knife, the one that makes me hard. But since each letter takes four seconds to type, I must depart before I self-destruct.
Until then, a musical interlude. One of my favorite road tunes. John Prine and Iris Dement. Ain't it sweet?