My
exasperation with the ludicrous constructs that lure me from
here to
there to wherever. And how I go. On purpose.
Ever onward
toward
my imagined importances.
All of
this is to generally say that I prefer—in fact, I suppose I truly
can
only tolerate, if not demand—sage, experience-driven,
&
elsewise-accredited advice on the really
important stuff, that
which
to whom and for which I should point my propensities.
Fortunately,
it’s the Era of Attention Deficit Disorder,
and
thus I never dwell too long on the bitter pills of
politics,
lousy advice, & the world wide webs
of
corporate and corporeal manipulation.
I’m
easily
distracted, and how could I not be when I
notice
that, in other news, it looks like Justin Bieber
has
been accused of an “egg attack.” I want
him so bad
it
hurts.
Now where was I, again?
