November 19th, 2010 / 10:20 pm
Author Spotlight & Random

It is Friday: Go dye a sled

I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.

Try a smirk that is not a smirk.

Nothing shall turn me.

What will happen to our odd photos now? We delete them. We delete them. We delete ourselves.

Drunk like house keys handed over to a youngest son.

Of word-play it has been said that those who most dislike them are those who are least able to utter them.

The nose of a mob is its imagination.

Golden bells! Brass rings!

There is an eloquence in true enthusiasm.

Sleep is a slice of death. I hate it.

Drunk as a famous photo.

Look. Convince yourself not to convince.

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  1. reynard seifert

      i have thought about we delete all our photos and i am for it i think because may as well accept there is no when if you know what is then

  2. Owen Kaelin

      Hate to get any more people hating me, but I don’t have any embarrassing photos floating around . . . that I know of.

      ‘Cause, you know… when you’re drunk you don’t necessarily know who’s taking a picture of you. (And even when sober there’s occasionally been people sneaking around a corner ready to take a photo of me.) …And when you’re asleep, well… there’s no telling who’s ready to tiptoe into your room of pull off the bedsheet… .

      As for sleep being a slice of death: Agreed, with an asterisk. I have an ambivalent relationship with sleep. Some nights the last thing I want to do is sleep, to me it’s like choosing to die for a little while. Other days, all I want to do is sleep all day. Life is too uncomfortable, all I want to do is sleep, and be comfortable.