by Tomorrow's Man
Got to witness the entirety of spring fever a moment ago as a UW Madison student trying to cross State Street against the light caused a bus to slam on its brakes, tossing riders awry. He then made some sort of point by blocking the bus and giving it the finger for a while, then a couple of fingers, ranting about the 'nice fucking weather' and 'people need to cross the fucking street' and that he would 'have the driver's fucking badge.'
Well, it was no Tiananmen Square, and bus drivers generally do not carry badges, but I guess it was okay on this beautiful spring day to witness the inspired energy of American Youth, and know we'll forever stay fired up over the brutal oppression of authority and its minions of public transportation.
The days I like change are the days that the change feels like the moment before the land sees lava
Bowelular adj. (boul' y'-l'r): Of or relating to the bowels, activity within the bowels, or events precipitated by the bowels.
It was obvious by the look on her face that the news anchor was having an uncomfortable bowelular experience.
No hyperbole, no poetry, just simple Nature: there is nothing that looks, feels, or smells more beautiful than a harbinger summer storm, all attitude despite a still cold jet stream, cranking its one-hit-wonder ass across this Northern state in mid-April.
Fourteen Seconds of Hail -- if there's better truth in a punk rock song, I don't know it.
The Ultimate Definition of "Potential":
NuvaRing boxes labeled "Store in a cool, dry place."
I swallowed a butterfly with liver leopards nipping at its Nikes and poofed out into a puffer fish trapped in the head of a tripping puffin and let me tell you, have you no never seen a bird like this bird on acid with a fish blowing its mind, man.
Sailed blind last night from Kiritimati to Galapogos as the GSM went crazy partying with the solar flares. About 1:02AM, passed out on the deck beneath a stunning night. Had a dream, I was babysitting my boss's young son at the house. It was a milky fog morning, and we were sitting at the computer reading Portishead reviews. Quietly but growing louder, "We Are All Made of Stars" built in the background. Andrew told me something about stars.
I awoke on the deck of the Mintaka in the purple darkness just before dawn, and realized I had not sailed East, but had drifted into the sky. Just South of the stratoshpere I realized little Andrew had been right: the starts were indeed angels, giving us a grand round of applause for being good for one more day.
01:02:03, 04/05/06, 7
How could I not write this, about this, right now?
It was a conscious decision to be on my seventh drink of the evening, just for the sake of being able to tip my hat just teensy bit toward myself as the tiny Universe known as mankind gets to witness this one millennial moment that surely may never come to pass again.
To this moment -- this exact moment of 1:02 AM and three seconds, on April 5, 2006 -- I salute me, and thee.