dear diary,
i may have found the original source of the gibberish foaming in my brain
it's paul and john's fault
here come old flat-top, he come grooving up slowly
he got ju-ju eyeball, he one holy roller
he got hair down to his knees
got to be a joker, he just do what he please
he wear no shoeshine, he got toe-jam football
he got monkey finger, he shoot coca-cola
he say, “i know you, you know me"
one thing i can tell you is you got to be free
he bag production, he got walrus gumboot
he got ono sideboard, he one spinal cracker
he got feet down below his knees
hold you in his armchair, you can feel his disease
he roller-coaster, he got early warnin'
he got muddy water, he one mojo filter
he say, “one and one and one is three"
got to be good-lookin', 'cause he's so hard to see
come together
dear diary,
today i read a most heartbreaking story from "Tales to Horrify"
it seems that some of the fortunate to have access to food have been stymied by the snapping of a dip chip when inserted into the aforementioned dip
and then, to add insult to injury, when a second chip was introduced in a valiant effort to rescue and retrieve the first chip, it too, snapped like a twig and even minutely soiled the dipper's finger with unchipped dip
i mollified myself, reminding me that i was taught many years ago by not one, but every single dog who has owned me that they have never had to use any sort of utensil or even their paws to consume nutrition
i was so chuffed by this realization i stuck my face right in my bowl of rice and beans and savored the moment
Dear Diary,
Was it ever correct for me to call you "Dear"? Seems kind of creepy.
It seems that fireflies and sparklers and Ray Bradbury will never come to save me.
And it doesn't matter whether I ever come to grips with that or not.
But the suffering is fine. If I were not alive in the first place, I wouldn't be here to "enjoy" the suffering.