try this drug quick before the media demonises it - it comes from a plant - and we all know that nature is wrong - cant make money from it - no tax - check it out - before the media goes wild !!!
YOU ARE FREE TO DO AS WE TELL YOU soory for these posts I was at a Noam Chomsky lecture last week - I want to fight the power!!! UP THE RA

ARE WE A GROUP OF REBELLIOUS INDIVIDUALS FIGHTING AGAINST A CORRUPT SOCIETY RULED BY BILLIONAIRES - OR DO I HAVE TO MUCH THINKING TIME ON MY HANDS?

Today it is Anita Dunn. Yesterday's witch hunt is forgotten, and tomorrow, while some of us are still trying to defend the right to express ideas unapologetically, there will be an new smear campaign, new clips of quotes out of context, the Daily Bogyman.

The problem is, of course, is that it is far more efficient to manufacture lies, innuendo, and hyped up outrage than to defeat it. It's a tactic used by lawyers, to keep slinging fast and furious; keep up the offence, and at some point the defense will fold under the sheer weight of it's own bulk.

Now misinformation has become the primary tool in American right wing politics. Like the myth of bad Chinese food, misinformation tirelessly plops out of the tube with a resounding splat, each story as ludicrous as the previous, but faithfully echoed down the line, references running in circles, and the fools are dazzled and amazed each and every time.

Lies, repeated often and loudly, are powerful tools of manipulation.

The loud static and screaming have taken up residence inside my head again. Background radiation hiss and mummers of discontent, snippets of things that could have been, shouts of things that didn’t. Elongated shapes distort the sound with struggles to be set free. Pushing and pressing against a pharmacological wall. It has a taste of cigar smoke and grey ash, the feel of a chill worrying at your ankles, all moving about in the darkness behind eyelids closed, the scent of dreams gone sour when you wake up after a bad night and try to shake it off over a breakfast of snap, crackle and popping cereal. I can see snippets of a filmstrip off in the blue expanse, shuddering and stuttering though a bad home movie I am not in, but know the ending. I am too lazy and tired to try and tap into it, the invitation takes too much effort, the courtship too damaging, and the end result too pathetically predictable. Somewhere out where the wind starts blowing.

The dew on the grass was glistening and the sun was shining above. The birds were chirping and the grass smelled freshly cut. I arrived at the caddy shack just as the sun came up. It was the Sixty Fourth Annual Club Championship and there was a buzz in the air. The members were excited and the caddies were also.
Normally the caddies would arrive just before dawn then check in with Levy. After checking in, you’d have anywhere from one hour to three four hours to wait. It depended on three things. First and most importantly it depended on seniority. Secondly it depended on how often you worked. And thirdly it depended on showing up early. Now keep in mind that if Levy didn’t like you then all the rules went out the door.

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bright morning ~ a three hour hike ~ a motorcyclist collided with a deer ~ med flight saved a life ~ family stayed the night ~ a kid broke in, fell asleep in his boxers at my computer chair at five in the morning

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aside from our wedding day oct. 10th, we experienced more this past halloween than we have on any other given day to memory.

first, this is a video of twenty three seconds of our morning:

this short short one is of the bridge we had to cross, roughly halfway to the falls:

and a few picts:

I want to start writing erotica. This is not out of a need to attract members of the opposite sex nor is it a selfish ploy to present myself as a member of the male species who may "understand" the emotional dimensions required in writing erotica. I don't understand these dimensions. I can pretend to understand. That's what makes me a writer. We can put ourselves in the lives and the knowledge of others. We can make ourselves sound like Socrates, and on the other hand, we can make ourselves sound like the town idiot. Before I push everyone who reads this to think the latter of me, I want to declare that I am a writer because of a passionate, innate need to be a writer. I see things unfold in my head, my mind's eye, Bill Hicks' third eye- call it what you will- I see stories unwrap before me as if they are real movies in life. And I write what I see, what I hear, what I know, what I feel, taste, smell, eat, love, fuck, love, hate.....etc.