Forced Ejection

Forced ejection


She’s lifted and its a beautiful thing. She’s riding high, flying, smoking, leaded.

She’s low riding, scraping the underside, tearing the warez.


It’s been decades since I’ve seen a sparkly Superfly ride as pristine and as tasty as this…old-school Superfly Cadillacs simply oozed sex, mystery, danger, adventure, gravas.

Boredom and CRASH talk

I’m distracted ny my own moods. One minute I’m wondering if cursors blink in morse code, I wondering how that could happen – would old guys with nothing better to do teach some young buck how it all works and then somehow it gets translated into something visual? I fell like a fool for staring at it. Why, hello there. The Ibeam of my mouse is far less interesting. My neighbors curtains are not interesting.

I miss being interested in finding obscure literature, fanzines and self-published booklets that are no longer popular, like Vex. Not that I have tried to find anything of the sort. I’m thinking I need a typewriter, and then I think about the noise of it all. Could I even tolerate such an archaic device. Maybe the fancy 21st century models are quieter, but who has $400 to find out?


So, in a conversation with my penn, we discussed masterful artwork for home, master joinery for automobiles, and challenges without need for superfluous discovery. Shortly thereafter, my penn said to me, “I have no idea what this means: master joinery for automobiles” and thus ensued a long discussion regarding what won’t happen.