Friday, August 22, 2003

should you feel, mr pol and mr harry, that your best efforts come to nought, consider what one learned scholar has to say about an example of your art that tripped lightly across his motherboard recently. The game makes me want to abandon my life and splish shoeless in a stream born of melting winter snow. I cup my hands under the water and am suddenly aware that the mountain, the stream, and myself share certain elements of composition. Are the mountain and the stream aware of this? I lock eyes with a bounding fawn and detect what I believe to be recognition. Love is audible and each life produces a resonance distinguishable from all other lives. . He's talking about a videogame, in particular this one. I felt this way about Grand Theft Auto, but wasn't nearly eloquent enough to say so. My comments on that particular title were reserved to barely audible grunts in recognition of Mrs Noodle-Bob providing me with sustenance as she is wont to do on occasion, thus verifying my belief that I Made The Right Decision in asking her to spend the rest of her life with me. Or indeed the rest of my life with her. Or the rest of our lives together. Regardless You Know What I Mean. Also, she makes fucking fantastic white chocolate muffins. And is a huge spunk. It's all good, really. I think there was a point here, but it may have taken a left turn at Alberquerque. It's four am - what did you expect?


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