Blame the Pen
4-24 Wed
I don't think this pen has anything good in it. It spells well enough but it lacks profundity. It's a PAPER[two little Valentine hearts, one atop the other]MATE FLEXGRIP - MED, and it seems a bit frivolous, like a teenage girl who puts hearts in her biology and dreams of a high school bad boy and drinks wine coolers while said bad boy spraypaints his tag on freeway overpasses
On the other hand, this pencil seems poised for some serious academics, full of effort and curiosity. BONDED U.S.A General's SEMI -HEX 498 /2/. That's what this baby is, and it's freshly sharpened and on the prowl for something to figure out, and it doesn't want anything so trivial as a crossword puzzle. It wants to know how to balance persistence and quality in a workable equation. It's not enough to just write and write if it's just crap for the sake of writing, but then if too much time is wasted in perfectionism, nothing will ever be completed.
I really must start moving Jim along, get him up off the couch after waxing about Crack's severity of gravity and remembering how weed used to lift him and send him off like a dog escaped from the backyard, trotting away from his owner, pretending not to hear, flagrantly ignoring--but he was stuck, like a quadriplegic, he tried to raise, but the pattern in the couch was jamming his neurotransitters, his feet were on the floor, but his weight was on his ass, and it was physically, scientifically impossible for his ass to lift his body. He thought about his predicament. If he leaned forward he could put his weight over his feet instead of his lap and push up from there. He put his hands on the couch and tried to push himself up with his arms, but they only sank into the cushions.
Now here's this PAPER[the little hearts again]MATE USA felt-tipped green ink model, extravagantly gauche, screaming for attention. "I'm green! I'm green !" It wants to go into advertising, but it's worried about it's popularity; it feels like the ugly stepsister to red and blue, and knows it can never approach the stately formality of black. Guess what color are the eyes of the monster that raises it's head? You know the monster's name: envy.
It is, however, spring, and even if red and blue and black are smugly wrapped in the insulation of their popularity, green knows of it's vitality and importance and takes comfort--
even if it is the greedy color of money.
I don't think this pen has anything good in it. It spells well enough but it lacks profundity. It's a PAPER[two little Valentine hearts, one atop the other]MATE FLEXGRIP - MED, and it seems a bit frivolous, like a teenage girl who puts hearts in her biology and dreams of a high school bad boy and drinks wine coolers while said bad boy spraypaints his tag on freeway overpasses
On the other hand, this pencil seems poised for some serious academics, full of effort and curiosity. BONDED U.S.A General's SEMI -HEX 498 /2/. That's what this baby is, and it's freshly sharpened and on the prowl for something to figure out, and it doesn't want anything so trivial as a crossword puzzle. It wants to know how to balance persistence and quality in a workable equation. It's not enough to just write and write if it's just crap for the sake of writing, but then if too much time is wasted in perfectionism, nothing will ever be completed.
I really must start moving Jim along, get him up off the couch after waxing about Crack's severity of gravity and remembering how weed used to lift him and send him off like a dog escaped from the backyard, trotting away from his owner, pretending not to hear, flagrantly ignoring--but he was stuck, like a quadriplegic, he tried to raise, but the pattern in the couch was jamming his neurotransitters, his feet were on the floor, but his weight was on his ass, and it was physically, scientifically impossible for his ass to lift his body. He thought about his predicament. If he leaned forward he could put his weight over his feet instead of his lap and push up from there. He put his hands on the couch and tried to push himself up with his arms, but they only sank into the cushions.
Now here's this PAPER[the little hearts again]MATE USA felt-tipped green ink model, extravagantly gauche, screaming for attention. "I'm green! I'm green !" It wants to go into advertising, but it's worried about it's popularity; it feels like the ugly stepsister to red and blue, and knows it can never approach the stately formality of black. Guess what color are the eyes of the monster that raises it's head? You know the monster's name: envy.
It is, however, spring, and even if red and blue and black are smugly wrapped in the insulation of their popularity, green knows of it's vitality and importance and takes comfort--
even if it is the greedy color of money.
posted by johnz at 3:03 AM
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