If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now,
(even if we don't speak often) please post a comment with a COMPLETELY
MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me. It can be anything you want
- good or bad - BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.

When you're finished,
post this little paragraph on your LJ and be surprised (or mortified)
about what people DON'T ACTUALLY remember about you.

Ripped from madwriter, seen on many others.

I counter colubra's horrid movie link with Sheer Genius!

Spring is heavy in the air tonight. That sort of negativity is infectious, the kind of cancer that makes all good smokers mouth breathers before they die. Slow rot in soft tissue. Still, sucking in life for a later explosion. It's a frightening time, machine-gun rain exploding all over my roof.

I've been shopping for a car lately. The key to a getting a good car is a slow walk up to the track, lazy, measuring the distance accurately before you plunge headlong down it towards and over the salesman at the other end. Gouge his heart out with your fingers, that's the way. I'm inclined to be practical for once. Something sleek and Japanese. My heart, though, aches for some great boat, one with fins that eats gas like a lion with a roar to match. This, I think to myself, is the car for marriage, a car to hurtle cross country in, hell bent for some desert chapel.

It's a thing you should do right if you're going to do it at all.

It's a war zone out there now. Two men gunned down in a crowd in broad daylight, no witnesses, some massive coverup. The police tape is three bands thick around a whole block, their cruisers flashing blue blue blue into the void.

What gets me, though, is how we never hear the shots. 200 yards away, gas station, 3000 miles away, Colorado, is there any difference? Violent death is wrong when it's so silent, when it creeps in like a thief and leaves brains splattered, spleens ripped, lives taken. That's all we ever seem to know of it in this America, where the ghoul reporters circle to feed at the corpse of one of their own, suckling to the teet of misery, paint faced and teary. This tragic loss of hope, expectation, talent, future glorified by cowards and miscreants. This is our media now that its heart is gone.

No, friends, we must not let it be a sad day. Do not feed these vultures. Open your windows and your doors. Breath deep of the coming change in the wind. Exhale. Let the first, long note come deep from the pit of your stomach, gaining strength as it burns through your chest, throat, explosive as it tears from your lips.

Sing with me.

---

Mahalo, Doc. It's been weird.

My eyes, my precious eyes!

Totally worksafe. There might be other reasons to censor it though.

Read:

Jonathan Strange & Mister Norrell, Sussanna Clarke

Really entertaining read, highly recommended.

The Amulet of Samarkand, Jonathan Stroud

Decent young adult fantasy. Not as rich as Harry Potter, but a more grayscale hero.

The Queue:

The Eyre Affair, Jasper Fford

Flow My Tears, The Policeman Said

Others. Will update next week.

Really, really bad joke within. Made it up. On a dare. You have been warned!

( Don Marquez's Mural )

If you've never seen this, strap yourself in.

Credit colubra with THIS.

He blames boingboing.net.

I remain skeptical.

How much time have you wasted answering stupid survey questions this year? Don't think before answering!

Answer now!

Answer now or I eat this kitten!

Seriously, I've got the pot boiling and everything!

For serious! This is LIFE OR DEATH here, people!

Update:

I hope the humor of how my mocking of demanding polls by having a demanding poll isn't lost on anyone. :)