Vanity Fair

My first blog since losing several others on MySpace. I should have never taken my original 2004 site down. Albeit, that was way before blogging became a sperm term within it's bastard mother's womb. But I digress. Which will become part of my ongoing MO I assure you.

Now where was I? Oh yes, the prelude to a series of written masturbatory snippets of my fleeting thoughts, mostly designed to celebrate, exploit, and memorialize the nuance of my everyday past, present, and hopefully, tomorrows. It will be an evolving, devolving, or revolving process, grimy and beautiful and sappy and morose. A sort of mental digestive intercourse, interspersed with unpalateable delectable delights. Perhaps some analysis paralysis. A little carnival thought vomit for shits and grins. And a smattering of sentiment thrown in for good measure. Nostalgic sweetness is a fitting condiment at times. And I have a vicious sweet tooth.

But it will all be in good fun I assure you; it will definitely be a large time, at least for me, since gallows humor runs thick in the blood of my veins. I daisy chain thought process together, embracing the order in the randomness of where my mind takes me, as it splays words upon the page, with an occasional disgust for toilet paper dander. And milk.

There will be some frequent use of the word hate to illustrate the extremities of my dislikes, juxtaposed against their balanced other half. Else I'd have to break out the butter knife. And that's really a slow, inefficient, tiresomely ridiculous route to death. I don't temper my expressions anymore with euphemism. Unless they serve my sick artistic whim of course. For I have an underground connection to artistic license of any kind. Even in today's world, I can disappear and reinvent the DNA of my mental fabric like a charm bracelet straight from pandora's chastity belt. And let me tell you, it's a jungle in there my friends. A freaking jungle.

I may also toss off an occasional reference to the benefits of being a bug taxi, and wax indulgent embroiled within devout epicurean orgies comprised of luscious red meat and a nice complex tasty little glass of red zin to top it off. And a Drambuie. And maybe a midget barbie doll. If they'd have made a midget barbie doll that is. Not fair really to the little people. But they'll always have Oz, like I'll always have Paris in my head. And several other places in between.

And maybe somewhere along the way, I'll have my day as a flying squirrel. That would just be way too cool for words. Will you miss me on that day? Perhaps not. But I'll be back. I'll always be back to comment on life's next episodic adventure, real, imagined, or otherwise. It's just too damn much fun for my smartassical tendencies to resist. And the only tangible sense of reality I've ever known.