I've been drifting through today on the thermals of John Lennon. Wafting and alighting without regard for the "is" to mourn the "what if". The Ben Casey opening. Man. Woman. Birth. Death. Infinity. Flintstones, Meet the Flintstones. They're the modern stone-age family.
It is but a trivial pursuit?
Aim High
Friday, October 8, 2010
Still Fucking Peasants -OR- How the Mighty May Fall
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