Western Mass Delusion Part 1: Swiftboat Captians united against Caroline Hicks.

 

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In fact, of the obsolescence of the spirit, preservatives and so forth, the fountain of physical youth and the drying of the mud of the spirit, and profound aridity of the soul.

If I had, as it were, farm acreage, I would not sell it to China, but such is the easy way of capital and amalgamation, to send pork revenues to an oppressor, in order to drive the newest smartest trucks and so forth, the latest of the phones, the proverbial mass psychosis.

I would not break the contract with my label, re-record the music and get paid twice for the same songs, but such is me, and I don't ruminate in the embittered flotsam of a disheveled bathroom, but I hasten forward without, and I can shut out the noise quite well.

I'd rather be a hammer than a nail, and as such, the nail writes dirges about bending haphazardly in the surface of posterity, and I take not what I did not brook of my own accord, but what they say, men about "selling" things, and so forth.

I brook not.

Traylor Howard.

I said f*ck that noise, but there very f*cking was a kind of noise, and the noise that pervaded, was a kind of haze of uncertainty, as if rushing to a trough, a kind of perhaps mindless careening forward, lost in one's own narrative, ready to fall flat, feeling a constant self-contained depression and malaise of perhaps, a singular pee party that they sat in afterwards, and they wanted to talk about it, because it was important to them.

And the grease had went sour.

Ray Traylor.

How one could, loathe the people, while also loving the people, the immortal communion of life itself, under a common sun, on a common firmament.

Hernon Traylor, nee Tittaglia, a simple copper mining village in Sicily, among ancient ruins, in kind of a moon-like crag of earthen debris and olive vines, it was said to be a meteorite of old, the source of the mineral wealth and the odd whispers, eldritch tales of things that didn't look like people, some other kind of intelligence, the betters that pretended the gates, or was it us pretending the gates?