Whudda W.A.S.T.E.

"Tell them I said something important. You're supposed to say something important when you die." Last Words of Poncho Villa

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Name: Monstro D. Whale
Location: United States

"Behind the intials was a metaphor, a delirium tremens, a trembling unfurrowing of the mind's plowshare. The saint whose water can light lamps, the clairovoyant whose lapse in recall is the breath of God, the true paranoid for whom all is organized in spheres joyful or threatening about the central pulse of himself, the dreamer whose puns probe ancient fetid shafts and tunnels of truth all act in the same special relevance to the word, or whatever it is the word is there, buffering, to protect us from." Pynchon, The Crying of Lot 49

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Saturday, March 29, 2008

It's 32 degrees outside

It's like you say, even out loud, this is just plain fucking ridiculous. But who the hell are you talking to. The clouds? The Sun? Seriously, what the fuckety fuck!? I see the sun. I'm pretty sure we're fairly close to it. In any case, I can't imagine that we're that far away from it that I need to be in perpetually FREEZING FRICKING WEATHER.

It's THIRTY TWO degrees outside. March 29th, high noon, been Spring for like, a week now...thirty two degrees. The birds that have come back after Winter? Yeah, they're leaving again.

I was going to primer some stuff I made, but I can't spray paint because it's too damn cold. Winter in Massachusetts lasts from November to April. I hate this state.

posted by Monstro D. Whale | 11:20 AM

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