February 7, 2002

  • Grounded.  Like the airlines directly after 9/11.  Me.  I ain't going nowhere.  It's beyond my control. Really.  And it ssauks, even sucks.  Due to circumstances, I can't travel for the indefinite future.  No more than this way. Or that.  20  miles.  How many feet is that?  How many dollar bills laid end-to-end?


    Because it sucks because.  Because there are Xanga entities I ache to meet.  Real love live Xangeroos oo-oo.  Some of whom I've met before, some for whom I'm still cruising for that eprop bruising.  I might as well be doing the minuet in 18th century China with bonded feet.  Ha ha--Mozart you gotta know I love you .


    Hey, but someday somebody.  Gonna wax this world.  Orbit it at exactly 13 feet off the ground.  No slam dunks baby.  Hugging giraffes' necks as I pass them by. Yea!!


    Until then, all I can say is, why don't ya come up and see me sometime?!  Or I can canvass the range: 20 mile.  Radius of latitude/longitude 41.52 81.68.  Quite deadly within the inner circle.  Quite lively too.

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