Now that I've got a full (and understandably confusing) schedule for my spinal correction surgery, things have gotten a lot more busy. This is inconvenient, as I dial down one anti-convulsant medication and simultaneously dial in a new medication. Mix that with a healthy dose of opiates, and you've got a bitches brew that would make Miles Davis blanch.
I would prefer to avoid spending any more time than is necessary on the jackanapes acting as the head of government of the United States. Poe's Law dictates that anything that I write satirically could rationally be interpreted as factual because the subject matter is already incredible. That being said, it seems that Reince Priebus has been made to do the fandango. Surely the thunderbolts and lightning are not only very frightning, but imminent for many of the White House staff.
Now that the iPod nano has been discontinued by Apple, not only are a number of third-world children forced to look for a different sweat-shop in which to work, but my shower companion will cease to have any further relatives or model-descendants. It is the terminus of a species. That being said, here is what it played for me during my last shower:
Music Playlist
- Cordelia, by the Tragically Hip.
- Quiz Kid, by Jethro Tull.
- Evangeline, by Matthew Sweet.
- The Saint, by Orbital.
- 40 ft., by Franz Ferdinand.
- Eenie Meany, by Jim Noir.
The easiest conclusion to draw from this song selection is that there are some very positive things waiting to happen. As I mentioned in a previous entry, though, Burroughs requires a loss of rational analysis, and an appreciation for the subconscious need for the human mind to connect dots and find patterns.
I promise to return the next time that I screw my courage to the mast and wash myself. Goodnight England and the Colonies.
Cheers,
—mARKUS
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