Found on the bus:
Dear Gwen(nie - crossed out),
I can meet you in the larnex Please stamp my letters and take a cup of coffee if you want it.
xx Love Mom
\
for you Gwen
P.S. Please stamp thise letters one is a thank you for the stationery.
(other side)
Nothin' quite like monologue from a fresh batch of overstock-discounted
comic books:
I drove for an hour. The dead were everywhere, their corpses ruined beyond definition... like victims of a medieval plague, or a morbidity of the planet itself.
Suddenly, for no reason, I remembered the words of Heidigger: "Hitler can't touch you, unless you invite him into your heart."
That idea seemed appropriate, fifty years after World War II, as the terrible scene unfolded before me like a metaphor -- a metaphor for empty, drained and desecrated human lives. SOMEHOW I KNEW THAT THE DEAD HAD ALL CONSPIRED AT THEIR OWN DOOM.
Theirs was the Fate of the LIFE-SUCKED. They were the willing victims of the COSMIC VAMPIRE.
The best part is when they portray
metaphysical and ideological clashes as conventional chop-sockey duel allegories dolled up in adult vocabulary...
Thank you, Animal Man #50, "Journal of a Plague Year."
Critical Mass was interesting last night for reasons completely beyond the functional-non-functional flux state of my bicycle - as we cycled down Robson Street, home of Boxing Week mass consumerism, people waved and cheered. People were friendly as we cruised around Burrard and Georgia, the business district. And yet only as we scuppered along Hastings towards the wrong side of the tracks did the onlookers urge us to get a job!
Perhaps they were projecting.
As we went past the Vancouver Art Gallery a second time, a pedestrian started running after me; I slowed to see what they had, which turned out to be a button for the hat which was slipped on top of my helmet:
Make
Every Day
A
Goodness Day
Finally a philosophy which I don't think I'll be able to find anyone in challenge of.
in our last episode... | p_i-logs | and then, all of a sudden...