argo I'm suprised that this is being read. Maybe you meant to click on

i_find_myself_so_captivating_that_even_my bowel_movements_are_surely_of_interest_to_you

Either way, it's not to late to turn around.
silentbob amen 010123
argo the years and gears kept going and blather (pardon the self-consciousness, i despise it) has become a dung-heap.

Yesterday I saw a Dutch plan for a metacity where all needs are met with very efficient infrastructures. But what directed the form of these programs was their concern for PRESERVING and learning from THE NATURAL ENVIRONMENT. What reminds me of the metacity now is the word 'dungheap'; it had several planned dungheaps. In the winter, the inhabitants could ski down them.

I'm a prude. Old geezer. I'm ready to sell all my Sonic Youth to a used CD store. It's an old geezer's sadness, watching blath grow exponentially--like a 3rd world country populating itself out of control.
what_happened_to_my_blather ?
too_many_words maybe.

deal deviant calmer carnal cager
can never be replaced. The stretches of days where I'D READ AND NOT WRITE don't occur anymore. I never find enough to read and I never feel unworthy of blathering in this cowardly new world.

Twice I've changed my name. My old names had too much dignity to wallow in what blather has become. Right now, I'd leave if I could.
I live in hope, though. It could happen. Sex lives and chat battles could be herded to:
We could again learn to type through the Moment of Blather, not the moments that we really live (the timelines of our hands on these keyboards, ticking by time-organized not emotion-based: teeth-brushing, boyfriend-visiting, sun-up, sun-down.)
I wish I could just not think about it and go skiing. But it effects me. This is why painters so rarely work together. They have to count on each other, in a relationship that's hard to maintain.
argo cager = cages 010124
what's it to you?
who go