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this is what i say this afternoon when i lie myself humbly on the backyard waiting for pecans to drop into my mouth. -->I ESCAPE! and think about copying machines. i want to make things onto paper and push the biggest green rectangular button and watch this machine's jet-lights go back and forth and take my warm stack of neat papers, and post these things up on trees where only children who climb them can find. this will be poetic. but you're not supposed to live in poetry. you must trade it in for greasy gas money. you know, to GET somewhere. or such is humanity's intent. you stay away from me. -->and pecans plink off my forehead.
by The JavaScript Source
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