Nonsense

I stared at dollar signs instead of working but then the reading was done and I had 5 hours until I had to be up for teaching people things about speaking.  A zombie TA with a unkempt mustache and dead eyes without their precious papers cause he ate them all up to stay awake.

Considering my lack of care for grammar at this moment, it might not be a good idea to start writing a paper. Then again, it might not be a good idea to wait until tomorrow either. Because at that very moment the cars starting whispering by his window with tired tired tires and saggy fenders.

And then they were silent.

PS - Cancer is everywhere and everything is synthetic.
PPS - There was some bad bad poetry tonight at the open mic. I wonder if people know what cliches are. Or if they care. I mean, maybe I'm using some here in this thing. But I'm not in front of a crowd pouring my heart out. A heart full of narratives from television shows movies books newspapers plays stories your parents friends enemies uncles aunts sisters brothers and everything everywhere on the internet drilled deep into the ventricles and pumped up through the brain until we regurgitated it to a room full of meaty meaning machines.  This one guy kept talking about his penis and elbows and it was terrible but sounded like it wasn't terrible but really, holy shit good god it was terrible. And a hippie got up and talked about walking around Washington DC and drivers and the environment but it was so ridiculously arrogant that all of the well meaning was washed away and I wanted to sneer instead of clap but I clapped cause I didn't want to be rude with my nose in a book I couldn't read because of all the terrible poetry.

The thing is, I could read all that above and call it poetry and people would clap and there would be a guy thinking, "Jesus what the fuck was that about. What an asshole" and someone else would think, "Whoa, that's so true" and someone else would be thinking about fucking that dude over at the other table who is writing in a notebook and looking up every few seconds, right through the ceiling and into the face of his muse and the words he writes are something along the lines of "To Do: Groceries (don't forget the almond milk!)" But really it would just be bad because I'm not even thinking about what I'm writing right now. I'm dumping piles of brainshit all over and you can read it or not and I can think about sleeping or writing in a more coherent fashion or continuing to do this because it feels a little more productive than the last however many hours.

Paragraph break!

I just reread up there and thought, "Saggy fenders? What the fuck are you talking about?"

This Colbert Restoring Truthiness business is some shit. Some good shit. They're funding teacher projects over at donorschoice.org and fucking kicking ass. Internets be good, tonight.

Braindrain complete.