Saturday, May 5, 2012
Run rabbit run
People dig Instagram, which the above is not, 'cause it's a quick, free, digital sketch of the sepia deceptions we hold most dear, mind becoming a facsimile of a tone poem of a manipulation. Rabbit, you don't know how lucky you are.
Posted by Randal Graves at 8:36 AM
Labels: ansel's spinning corpse, music, trenchant commentary on the human condition
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9 comments:
Rabbit is rich.
And believes that your methods are unsound, R.G.
~
The scene in the novel when a drunk Janet accidentally drowns her infant daughter in the bathtub? One of the most disturbing, haunting scenes in all the literature I've ever read. I'd gone two, three years without thinking about it, getting upset all over again. Thanks!
if, but is he remembered? And it's obvious that that rabbit's never heard of the Max Power way.
BDR, aw hell man, that bit didn't even creep into my noggin when typing this up & now I feel even more blah. Thanks!
Ah well, rabbits were meant to run and we still have the giant robot vs. Cthulhu to soothe us.
If only they'd let their guard down for a moment for those of us without intergalactic telescopes.
As I was fixing something in the Emergency ward one night heard a doctor tell a new nurse not to play with the deceptions people build their realities around.
Last time that happened a psych patient climbed into the crawl space between the floors and it took twenty cops and security guards to pull him out.
I somehow missed that episode.
"...a facsimile of a tone poem of a manipulation" -- wrapped in an enigma.
FYI, my deceptions are Kodachrome vivid, with no facsimilitude needed or desired by what passes for my mind.
BB, dude, I hope they didn't find your stash.
tom, inside a taco.
SWA, only because you cheat, owning one of those Fotomat oases.
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