“Doctor, my eyes have seen the years
And the slow parade of fears without crying
Now I want to understand
I have done all that I could
To see the evil and the good without hiding
You must help me if you can . . .”
— Jackson Browne
I really almost feel like pulling an all-nighter tonight. I will say, the plants are being forced into flower this week, and it’s just stickiness, sticking to fingers, lips, glassware, going to be throwing down some crazy ad shibbits now that they are a bit more mature. Sorry Marly, loving the bone tights.
After laying the Honda down a few weeks back on a really crappy day for a ride in a patch of gravel at the entrance to Stone Mountain State Park, my repair to the plastics is nearly complete but, alas, the good riding weather is almost gone. I’m already looking forward to spring when the weather’s more hospitable and in the wee hours of a mildly warm Sunday morning I can strap on my hand me down 42DD, throw in some size 8 forms, skinny into my last night panties, slip on my leather catsuit (completing a quasi-Trinity look with my spike heel thigh-highs, in lieu of her motorcycle cop boots), and blow down the road past all the baptist churches, muffler note crackling off the stained glass windows, ricocheting between the tombstones in the cemetary behind the rectory, and rustling the tired old pigeons roosting on the Christ as Young Boy statue in the rose garden tended by the Reverend’s wife. Someday, the South will evolve too, it’s just taking longer than you might have thought it would. Every little wild-hair helps, though, right?
Nude boy shorts tonight, comfort triumphed over speed.