i just posted snorting filth. i wrote it two days ago in my accounting class because i was bored and had to create somewhere else i’d rather be.  i often have to create somewhere else i’d rather be.  not as often as i used to, but still, often.

i am listening to clinic’s new cd.  i just bought it.  it’s been out a week and a half.  i’m so embarassed.  i’ve been waiting for this cd for a year, and then when it comes out i’m oblivious.  the guy at the record store assured me i wasn’t alone–the sales for the cd, he said, weren’t doing as well as they’d thought they would.  this is sad, because clinic is a very very fine band that should be bought and heard by everyone.

as soon as the last line comes to me i’ll post the first story in what might be a saga regarding karen deathrage, a very cruel woman that everyone should fear.  or, of course, it may be the only story.  time will tell.  and it’s very annoying to wait for the last line to come to you.  where is it? i ask. (this, i believe, is how good stories are made bad, mine included.  a line or a paragraph or a page is forcibly written, instead of just being written.)

hmm.  once again, a closing line eludes me.