Adult: A person who does not carve messages into treesides.

I am betting that swans looked on, as hot vappours drifted from my mouth, made for breaths and eating and sometimes making out, and they envied my facetious and fastidious lip-twisted smoke signals, which called for a revolution, for rejuvvenations, to injuns waiting in the wings, waiting behind the hills, in distances swans had only read about in books, when they were still ugly little ducks.

The squall wasn't a very significant squall, but it made splashes in the edges of lake waters, and swans must have come in front, with the rrainss, which made attempts to artillerate the legions of gnats, which are impenetrable, but rather penetratious, especially when a mouth is gaped in dedications of a very particular and distinct mixture of oxygen and brotherly atmospheric gases, its attached legs somewhere below, causing velocity.

No one was upon the promenade, which shalt be pro-nounced "prah-mah-nahhhd", except for me, feeling very anorexic and invirile, unphotogenic, untributaries of collected waters on my skin and no one else's, molecules mingling, some local to me and some having been traveling, but have doubtless met thousands of times before, all of these, long before ever we were, or anything we know, the smallest in science having more than trillions of kindred spirits. That is not just something cutesy to say - it is the truth. And that is the part that is humbling.

My new lung residents have triggered some sort of mucous development complex. I have been unknowingly forced into the role of slumlord. It just goes to show that the most well-meaning among us shall become heartyless bastards, and it is all far beyond our controls.

If rainy days and Mondays always get Karen Carpenter down, then what happens when they coincide?

If swans were appropriate participants for séances, then I would invest the time for finding out.

This not being the case, I will divert my ambition to the efforts of guessing.

I am sorry for writing all of this and not saying anything.

also

this is my album description, for 'dim mak':

and from the mountaintop, an echoing voice did boom:
"long mayst thou suffer thy succotash.."

and lo! the voice did lol, as it faded into the crashing of thunders.

i guess it doesn't describe the album so much as it makes me laugh.

ha!

weirdness will pull money from wallets, my dear peeps.

newest installaments

laderies & gentalamen,

it is here.

http://cdbaby.com/cd/tiredorbit3

the last you'll ever hear from the shockwave riders?

the last you'll ever hear from the tired orbit?

these things seem likely, it is true.

even though, it is not what the prophecies would have us bereave.

(double entendre?)

--

this is a limited edition run of (4) units. which is hardcore limited edition. but i can make more if i need to. it's cheaper than making one thousand, which is not cheap.

or! you can wait until the entirety becomes available on iTunes, Yahoo Music, et al.

we are sluts for the modern technolologies. besides, no one buys holdable product anymore.

but that should happen within the next month or two. i will surely send reminders.

-tim.

Rising trends in apostrophe placement issues (or: getting older and dumber)

Oh, badness. I have not paid attention to a television in what seems like weeks. At the most inopportune time, I find myself completely ignoring playoff hockey, and constantly missing out on the newest installment of '24', which stars Kiefer Sutherland as a supreme goddamn badass.

Also, I have no Comedy Central in Canada, which means I may as well be living on a peasant farm, with no running water, and with an outhouse that I have to share with a sasquatch who is constantly eating Thai food. I don't know why the over-the-top analogy...

--

Here is something from yesterday. I was being nice and innocent, and we were walking along the lake just like a lot of other people. Except that those people had dogs and babies and strollers and toddlers. One of the babies was crying heavily within its stroller, or perhaps having an exorcism performed. It was an epic tantrum of sadness.

H.: "Oh, wow."
Me: "What?"
H.: "That reminds me of your blog."

I am probably paraphrasing. But it was a hardcore cutdown. I almost highfived her. Except that I was too shattered.

Sometimes, I am a sappy guy. I have no checks or balances with which to fend off melodrama. I refuse to apologize.

--

I am jogging a lot, which means I am a slave to vanity. Further proof of my mass vanities are the fact that I bought pants that fit, and I bought them at Old Navy instead of Target. I also bought sleek and handsome shirts, or else, they are what I am considering sleek and handsome. I am certainly all about image these days. My soul is all the worse for it.

I have also forfeitedd my cred, which I was using to be momentously popular. The woe is only offset by the fact that I am impressed with my ability to make forfeits.

--

This summer will be a good summer. Mostly because I am a sucker for trees and flowers and beautiful landscape sceneries.

I need to plan my trip. Should I go to:

A. Iceland
B. New Zealand, again.
C. Mongolia
D. Iraq
E. United States of America
F. Save money, asshole

?