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Ramble On: Autumn 2024 Edition

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Ramble On  Autumn 2024 Edition  __________________________________________________________________________________ I’m a mother fucking force of nature, so let’s begin the lightening round that is this post:    Link to full playlist:   Ramble On Autumn 2024 1.  Wag the dog.    2.  Perfection is not always synonymous with flawless.    3.  Demons are comfortable with everything.    4.  “Talk to me like I’m not listening...”   5.  Thigh kisses > forehead kisses    6.  “Eldorado”  Gaily bedight,    A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow,       Had journeyed long,       Singing a song, In search of Eldorado.    But he grew old—    This knight so bold—    And o’er his heart a shadow—       Fell as he found    No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado.    And, as his strength       Failed him at length, He met a pilgrim shadow—       ‘Shadow,’ said he,       ‘Where can it be— This land of Eldorado?’    ‘Over the Mountains    Of the Moon, Down the

8.24.24 - 2.0

Ashmolean Museum Neue Nationalgalerie Bagnols-sur-Cèze Townhall Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum Juan B. Castagnino Museum of Fine Art Montreal Museum of Fine Art

8.24.24

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8.21.24

 I’ve learned, taught, forgot, started and quit, won and lost, hated and loved.   I mind my p’s and q’s, even though the ladies’ room doesn’t ever seem to mind me nearly peeing its queue….   Snapchat. SnapBack. Aflac. Big Mac. Track your package with OnTrac. TicTac. Snack pack. Cyberattack. Don’t forget to take your stimpak.   My government officials have wishlists that Veruca Salt herself couldn’t rival. It’s no wonder everyone’s fighting for basic survival.   And I remember when those around me wanted to give me peace of mind, instead of giving me a piece of their mind…   Chris Pratt. Doormat. Non-fat. Whiplash. Call the number on your screen now for free cash. Grab ass. Kit-Kat. Lab rat. Smokestack. There are some things we’ll never be able to get back.

8.17.24

 Sometimes, you just have to have a bratwurst for breakfast. 

8.12.24

 Through sickness and in health.

7.4.24

 Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have my face crunched down into cold, white earth. What the taste of ice and blood would be like mixed together on my already acidic tongue.  Metallic. Lingering. Thick. If I'd find it in me to get up.  Blister out one more round despite it all. Or if I'd finally stay down. Drift off with the wind. Disappear into the quiet.