The Wreckoning, Pt 14

I've gotta admit, surely I could come up with better post titles then rehashing and reheating this over and over again, but that's not the point. The point is to drag you, fine reader, through this monotony with me. Denied brown sugar for yr Brimley-oats. Trust me the Rainbow will return to this Curved Air in two weeks time. Until then, just shuddup and help me pick at the drying asphalt, will you?

This is a bit sly, but I've been slacking. I can't help it, it's the semester-point where some part of my mentis demands that I make distinction between home-space and homework-space. Meaning: when I'm at the apartment there is just NO FUCKING WAY that I'm gonna get up on that responsibility-swingset and pump my brain-legs for any length of time. Nope, rather I will do that thing you always did to younger siblings where you pull yrself and 'set up the supporting side-pole and then release yourself, steel smirk matching the swing rungs as you give first lessons in inertia, parabolic trajectories, and the law of Big Kid Wins.

It should be noted that in this "loose" analogy (Whoo! Feel me shake my limbs all willy-nilly!) I am the older sibling and lab reports are little chump-targets. Meaning that when I am done with them they remain woefully underdeveloped and exhibit extremely muddled attempts at communication.

Maybe I should listen to fewer slurred booty raps and more intricate synthesizer music when I write these things. Then again, the Clipse arguably utilize way more Pyrex than I ever will, so who knows.