bonzo

two weeks, or t'weeks, in hooked on Phnix, Arrid-Zona and still no work. bodily needs slowly drain ones pecuniary reserves as they painfully aquiesce into capitalist oblivion. indeed such horrible deeds one has performed in order to obtain these obscene sheets of green.
spoke with her again last night. ahhh the execrable laws of time and space; as they do thier worst to hide such a beauteous face. her voice still causes this poor, dead heart to race. at least she fairs much better up in the hyperborean weather with her new beau and that white flaky stuff; s'not the people - the snow.
anyway. off to another interview with the programmed leaders of the pop-cult. shirt and tied to the rack as the soi-disant reality of sanity begins to crack. the desire to succeed, or suck-seeds of greed, is what i truly and thankfully lack.
slugs and kisses to the future mrs.