- After visiting with several NBA teams this offseason, Josh Childress is headed back to Greece to "finish what he started."
- Derick Rose took the SAT.
-Latest development from Minnesota: Kevin Love legally changes name to "Senor Love" and begins courting Ricky Rubio's second cousin, a sultry brunette who stands about 5'7" (without heels) and is naturally bowlegged.
-Other news from Minnesota: Rubio (tentatively) added to David Kahn's pub league slo-pitch team, The Flex Option.
-Joy Nelson, wife of Don Nelson, lost 25 pounds last month after switching from French Toast and eggs to Quaker's Apple Cinnamon Instant Oatmeal every morning; through it all, Don remained comfortably apathetic.
September 21, 2009
September 9, 2009
Black Steel in the hour of ... a short story with tense issues
I got a letter from the government, like last week. I opened and read it; it said they were suckers. That's actually all it said. "Dear Chuck, This letter is for you. We are suckers. --The Government" I don't speak legalese, but I read through the violence and doubletalk. It's obvious what they wanted. They wanted me in their army.
Now, I want to frame this correctly, so you understand. I am getting this letter in a mail system that seems to deliver 40 pieces of corporate junk for every legitimate letter. So picture me opening this single, shining hope of mine, in this letter, and it is a cryptic allusion to joining the army. Or whatever. I'm not even really sure. I want you to picture me caring about their army, to picture me as a Marine, because I had received this letter. Visualize me caring.
Because this is false. Rather, I denied, and I said "Never." Actually I didn't say anything. It was an empty room. What was the point of saying anything in a room that is empty? But I was amazed at this development. Here is a land that never gave a damn, about a black male like myself and, frankly, never has, and they
are asking me to kill and die for them?
Now, I want to frame this correctly, so you understand. I am getting this letter in a mail system that seems to deliver 40 pieces of corporate junk for every legitimate letter. So picture me opening this single, shining hope of mine, in this letter, and it is a cryptic allusion to joining the army. Or whatever. I'm not even really sure. I want you to picture me caring about their army, to picture me as a Marine, because I had received this letter. Visualize me caring.
Because this is false. Rather, I denied, and I said "Never." Actually I didn't say anything. It was an empty room. What was the point of saying anything in a room that is empty? But I was amazed at this development. Here is a land that never gave a damn, about a black male like myself and, frankly, never has, and they
are asking me to kill and die for them?
September 5, 2009
There is not a single blog entry yet
There is not a single blog entry yet, Jessica. What a conundrum.
Hello, my friends, this is Pearls of Mystery, so-named because it brings together two American pastimes: oyster-diving and mysticism. We are affiliated with a fine giant oligarchy called Empty Net Clothing, which we'll be linking to in the future extensively. We link to this oligarchy because we are the oligarchs thereof.
Clever apparel is like a band-aid, I think, which serves to cradle a wounded viscera like a nurse at a hospice. We at Empty Net are the doctors that create these nurses. Some days you will wake up literally dead, and before then, this dying sphere is filled with broken hearts, charlatans, half-remembered connections, inane cultural references, and formless incomprehensibility. It is our moral obligation as doctors to cook up the best medicines. Or in this metaphor, to cook the best nurses. To cook up the best nurses.
Let us come into your home with our wares, and rub your heart and organs one last time with a massage. Let us fill a little morsel of that void-meal called life with the cloth-product of an oligarchy.
There was not a single blog entry, and now there is. That is our business model, to fill the blogroll of your consciousness with a reverie garment.
So let us be your cloth friends. Let us into your heart and organs.
Let us...join
Hello, my friends, this is Pearls of Mystery, so-named because it brings together two American pastimes: oyster-diving and mysticism. We are affiliated with a fine giant oligarchy called Empty Net Clothing, which we'll be linking to in the future extensively. We link to this oligarchy because we are the oligarchs thereof.
Clever apparel is like a band-aid, I think, which serves to cradle a wounded viscera like a nurse at a hospice. We at Empty Net are the doctors that create these nurses. Some days you will wake up literally dead, and before then, this dying sphere is filled with broken hearts, charlatans, half-remembered connections, inane cultural references, and formless incomprehensibility. It is our moral obligation as doctors to cook up the best medicines. Or in this metaphor, to cook the best nurses. To cook up the best nurses.
Let us come into your home with our wares, and rub your heart and organs one last time with a massage. Let us fill a little morsel of that void-meal called life with the cloth-product of an oligarchy.
There was not a single blog entry, and now there is. That is our business model, to fill the blogroll of your consciousness with a reverie garment.
So let us be your cloth friends. Let us into your heart and organs.
Let us...join
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