It’s All About the Milk

I’ve expressed myself in my last couple of entries primarily with caustic material, and it certainly doesn’t do justice for me as person. For those who know me I get pretty wrapped up in the pursuit of truth. I will have you know, that—don’t get jealous—the milk… is delivered to the house I’m staying at. Not only that, but they have broadband. Milk. Broadband. Ohhhhhh sweet mercy I am taken care of.

It’s pasteurized and 2%, rich, and mmm oh so good. It calls to me at night, and in the morning, and in the evening… it beckons me to partake of the fruits of a cow’s labor. Golden Grahams then cry out to be united with his bride, and then the matrimony ensues upon the bowl, and sealed with a spoon. Meanwhile, millions and billions of bits bounce off my head. The broadband here is wireless. It sings to me sweet soft songs of data at night.

To add to the joy, David, the 15-year-old guy who lives here informed me yesterday that if you beat WarCraft III in the hard mode you get to see a preview clip of StarCraft II. I eagerly await it. Oh, and I found my camera at the bottom of my backpack. Kim added to her perception of me as oblivious—directionless, short-term memory… I can’t remember names without some persistent use of a memory device. You get it. Well, now I’m hoping to finish a poem, which I am supposedly going to read tonight at a reading in downtown Salt Lake City. I need to go mow someone’s lawn, so you take care.