Monstieur Magnette

I had some cigars and stuff, and it was all Plato and heaven, and I was rather off in a eyes-open dream.  There was talking of genital torture to promote nervous sensitivity, or as it were, capitalize on it, and I kind of cringed remembering old degenerate pirate porn from much older times, vast stockpiles of various styles and genres, whatever would spin the Barbour pole, and all that, whatever they just thought was funny, or hot, or funny while being incidentally hot, and the whole thing ironically, was in its irony a kind of taboo titillation of really doing something somebody is not supposed to do.

Reasoning all this, blood glucose taking a quick dip, cigar in the fingertips, kind of shooting my self in the head rhetorically for the sake of just feeling something in that kind of flat valley blood glucose flatline numbness that could just come over you.

Someone was saying Honore d'Balzac covers everything, and I thought that was that kind of stupid Nazi engineering optimism, just as in the post-war, we frustrated and put to a proof that their dream was nothing more than wishful thinking, why, we were the ones living the dream, though the Germans got free college and every girl at Fox News worked a minimum wage job to pay for college.

There was bottom-down, top-up ontology, kind of a Donacci, Donazi dream, bottom-down top-up kind of thing with his fireball rhetoric, bombast and kind of Arabic sort of absolutes, the kind of boisterous, bravado, almost delusional thing, and then their finding the killers out there, and all the illegals that cut the grass at Donald's place, sex offenders and part-time Fentanyl kingpins, all, those Mexicans that work for their 8/hr.

I was on again about the little "conjugates of an eternal chain" bullcrap line, toss-aside stuff, and they were talking about the rampant sexualization of politics, and I was thinking, I just rolled-over off of Kari Lake.

Kim John Kari.

Tumplestiltskin.

I was saying, "I don't like to always do what is expected", the philology of the zig and zag, a yen and yang kind of push-pull that is, was, life in Cheraw, SC, kind of a, "I'll do what I want" thing, but meanwhile, take in the sights and sounds.  And we where talking again about the immensity of probabilty behind predicting so much of happens and movements about the day, and I used my famous line about that: "Nobody's ever been able to explain it before, but you ask, and expect that here, right now, I'll off the cuff explain life itself."

"I'll tell you the ways of a monster."

Why do you have to make everything a thing?

Shit.

"I'll show you the ways of a monster."

"I'll make a documentary about the ways of a monster."

It's like life is a unconfirmed Twitter account, does NOT have a blue check mark, in fact, but is posting nearly nonsense stuff and is possibly in danger of, if not outright banning, maybe the hell of irrelevence.

Why don't they fix the US 1/US 9 bridge?

*Pray for the addict that still suffers.