Profligate leftist prostitution partying from who knows where. || "It is now less and less necessary for the writer to invent the fictional content of his novel. The fiction is already there. The writer's task is to invent the reality." -- JG Ballard. || "You try running with your sagging breasts down the middle of the fucking street. People will throw a blanket over you. And grab you. And call the police. For fuck's sake." -- Germaine Greer.
Too late to wish you happy birthday so I'll wish you a happy 364 days instead.
Posted by BD Sixsmith | Thursday, September 17, 2015 10:36:00 pm
Not mine I'm afraid, although I can understand you thinking that considering how cryptic I was. I'm sure they'll appreciate another random person on the internet's birthday wishes in any case.
Posted by septicisle | Thursday, September 17, 2015 10:39:00 pm
I'm dense.
But have a good day anyway. :o)
Posted by BD Sixsmith | Friday, September 18, 2015 8:37:00 am
You haven't tagged this post but I'm assuming that it might be related to your other "personal shit" entries.
If that's the case then I always find, "May the lines sag heavy and deep tonight" a helpful thought in these situations.
Anyway, hope you're alright and all that.
Posted by Anonymous | Monday, September 21, 2015 1:37:00 pm
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