General Sharp's Pointed Pencil Brigade
General Sharp is marching on Gilpin, Nevada at an alarming pace. All six cacti have been notified, and know better than to hide out near the old abandoned water tower. In other news, There are far too many ambulances running rampant in Excelsior. The chinese chickens are still headless, and nobody has bought the yellow futon from outside Western Donuts #28. Charles Dickens has been upgraded to stable condition however, as mustard wins the derby at Kauffman stadium to my chagrin. damned be relish. a metaphor for it all. 2007 is just around the riverbend, pocahontus.
Daily Distance: 2.58 lazy miles
Total Distance Crossed: 206.12 miles
posted by w.weston @ 10:41 PM
2 Comments
2 Comments:
it occured to me in the bath today that i usually sleep on my right side. While my more delicate bits pruned up nice and good in the bathwater, I thought back to my beginning studio art class in high school, when Mr. Parra, after telling us freshman a joke about foreskins and hospitals, asked us to free up our creativity via something he called a "hemisphere exchange." Which sounds like either some kind of deviant sexual thing you might do crouched over a globe. It involved some kind of interweaving hand exhchange where you would alternately grab your nose and ear with hands, slap your knees, then switch hands. In the vein of the pat-head, rub-tummy exercise. It makes you look like you just sniffed a bunch of glue or that gas they use to keep air conditioners cold (freon?).
It was supposed to effectively link the two hemispheres of your grey matter more matter-of-factly together and allow your creativity to lift into the air like an anorexic crow. More than anything, it made me feel silly.
But now, when I consider my admittedly vast knowledge of the human circulatory system, I wonder if my habit of sleeping on the right side permits more blood pooling in my brain as I sleep. If it does, I imagine my dreams become infinitely more surreal and laden with sylph-like girls fornicating endlessly with me in surprising places (like on top of globes). It also might help my more diurnal, mundane creative doodlings.
Point being, sleep on your right side, even if it makes you breathe funny after you drift off. Tell me what you think.
Sincerely,
Jin-sawayTurnerSan, Emperor of the Peach Cardboard Dawn
P.S. Nevada sure is pretty
P.P.S. Sex?
There is an actual LIVE headless chicken story I feel I should tell you right now. Mike, the Headless Wonder Chicken (as his family in Fruta, Colorado so lovingly referred to him), lived for eighteen months after his owner lopped off his head. He travelled for a great deal of that time. I'm not likening your little expedition here to Mike the Headless Wonder Chicken's (heretofore referred to as MHWC), but I feel like, if MHWC can get a few bucks out of a tour, why shouldn't you too? Granted this all took place in 1945-6 when most people were stupider. Also, they only paid 25 cents to see the thing, so don't get any big ideas.
PS Llyod and Clara Olsen (relation to the Olsen twins? Probably.) fed and watered the chicken through its hole of a neck. That also sounds like something you shouldn't try doing on your tour of the country. Gross.
PPS I claim royalties if you put this section in your book someday.
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