pushing the envelope
I spent all my free time yesterday preparing for an envelope trip. Timothy "Nicotine Tim" Leary used to send me letters in envelopes that were actually entire sheets of hi-powered blotto acid.
& of course you're familiar with "Andy Morlock's Dead", which I wrote on a nutmeg binge. (It is a little known fact that nutmeg is a psychedelic drug. You make herb tea out of it or smoke it.) While still living in the Space Capsule, & without my atomic bong (the best way to write a story), I holed up upstairs one night with typewriter torment harrowing me, got up to "Dead#9", then quit just after Lead turned into a woman; girly-girl with tits delightful; slithy toves. In short, I didn't finish the project, which is now #3 on the VU webring. Starting Tuesday, when Trish is back at work, I'll drop a hit of envelope, put in all my Velvet Underground CDs, & create something magic while blown away.
When Trish came home, she brought along a really delightful tray of veggies lifted from the salad bar, then took her shower while I called wako. I fixed something vaguely Oriental from canned stir fry veggies, a packaged Rice-a-Roni knock off, & chicken tenders. We have all kinds of leftovers, but nonetheless will cook the roast beast; some of the chicken chow mein can go in the freezer, if needs be.
When we were almost prepared for TV, I asked Trish to worship at the temple of Ooga-Chugga, & we both became a little Leery after she sucked on my ding-dong. It was just like Sister Ray said.
Then we watched disk #2 of Battlestar Galactica. 5 episodes; during the first, Joe called, & talked about computers, what else? Trish had me pause it once, for laundry, then continued to do the laundry non-stop. We eventually made it into the maws of Toastie Bear, & the temezapam kicked in. 'Cause when the tranks begin to flow then I really don't care any more about all the Scientologists making crazy sounds.
& of course you're familiar with "Andy Morlock's Dead", which I wrote on a nutmeg binge. (It is a little known fact that nutmeg is a psychedelic drug. You make herb tea out of it or smoke it.) While still living in the Space Capsule, & without my atomic bong (the best way to write a story), I holed up upstairs one night with typewriter torment harrowing me, got up to "Dead#9", then quit just after Lead turned into a woman; girly-girl with tits delightful; slithy toves. In short, I didn't finish the project, which is now #3 on the VU webring. Starting Tuesday, when Trish is back at work, I'll drop a hit of envelope, put in all my Velvet Underground CDs, & create something magic while blown away.
When Trish came home, she brought along a really delightful tray of veggies lifted from the salad bar, then took her shower while I called wako. I fixed something vaguely Oriental from canned stir fry veggies, a packaged Rice-a-Roni knock off, & chicken tenders. We have all kinds of leftovers, but nonetheless will cook the roast beast; some of the chicken chow mein can go in the freezer, if needs be.
When we were almost prepared for TV, I asked Trish to worship at the temple of Ooga-Chugga, & we both became a little Leery after she sucked on my ding-dong. It was just like Sister Ray said.
Then we watched disk #2 of Battlestar Galactica. 5 episodes; during the first, Joe called, & talked about computers, what else? Trish had me pause it once, for laundry, then continued to do the laundry non-stop. We eventually made it into the maws of Toastie Bear, & the temezapam kicked in. 'Cause when the tranks begin to flow then I really don't care any more about all the Scientologists making crazy sounds.
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