sanemagazine: wonderful rubbish

We are celebrating this week, a week in which lots of potentially terribly interesting and historically fascinating things are happening and have happened over the course of history (making them already historically fascinating, or at the very least memorable) (potentially including the Ides of March, had the Ides of March happened to have fallen in the middle of May, which, apparently, they didn't, or so popular tradition will have us believe (if we had been a bit more "with it," as the kids say these days, last week we would have re-written history in a grand homage to our title of last week, proposing that, at the end of the world, we'd actually get a crack at manipulating history (being careful not to get too controversial lest we find ourselves engaged in public debates and using words like Truth, Time, Intellectualism, and Reality a whole lot more than they really ever should be used (in cases of extreme boredom, in instances in which you'd like a conversation someone's seen fit to strike up with yourself in the aisles of a bookstore against your wishes and despite faking a move towards Self-Help, but instead finally ducking quickly down Sports, wiggling through a few stacks that obviously weren't meant to be wiggled through (as a tribute to Pelé goes tumbling to the carpet) to get to Existentialism, winding up, by a commodious vicus of recirculation not quite by Howth and environs but at least the Thriller section, only to find yourself confronted with the self-same person, seeing as the bookstore is only three aisles large itself, a true justification for Barnes and Noble if there ever were, and confronted with the awful statement that you, yourself, did indeed disabuse the word Truth of its very own Truth, thus rendering history a farce of astronomical proportions, or at least awkward at dinner parties)) and (re)making history to have the Ides of March falling in the slightly more convenient period between 14 and 21 May, a more much handy proposition than the current, rather awkwardly persistent insistence that it/they fall in March in addition to cleaning up that whole teenage thing you happened to go through and perhaps making history a lot more kind to wombats) our one hundredeth issue at www.sanemagazine.com.

disclaimer:
This issue actually doesn't compile with under tcl, which is all right, since it's an interpreted language.
I once had a great dream of chartering a boat and sailing across the ocean (which, I won't tell). At the moment, I could do with a hammock strong enough for two, a glass of lemonade (again, strong enough for at least two), and a sunny patch of space over which to hang a hammock, suitable for two, perhaps with a glass of lemonade, again, suitably strong, sitting within a reasonable distance (say someone's arm reach, should they feel so inclined to reach out and grab a glass of lemonade, and perhaps wish to share). And perhaps a table on which the lemonade might be rested once it's no longer necessary. But, to be honest, the table isn't really essential.


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				Hysterical Paroxysm
		archives horoscopes accessories contacts fables home Add Sane Magazine to your My Netscape.		We are celebrating this week, a week in which lots of potentially terribly interesting and historically fascinating things are happening and have happened over the course of history (making them already historically fascinating, or at the very least memorable) (potentially including the Ides of March, had the Ides of March happened to have fallen in the middle of May, which, apparently, they didn't, or so popular tradition will have us believe (if we had been a bit more "with it," as the kids say these days, last week we would have re-written history in a grand homage to our title of last week, proposing that, at the end of the world, we'd actually get a crack at manipulating history (being careful not to get too controversial lest we find ourselves engaged in public debates and using words like Truth, Time, Intellectualism, and Reality a whole lot more than they really ever should be used (in cases of extreme boredom, in instances in which you'd like a conversation someone's seen fit to strike up with yourself in the aisles of a bookstore against your wishes and despite faking a move towards Self-Help, but instead finally ducking quickly down Sports, wiggling through a few stacks that obviously weren't meant to be wiggled through (as a tribute to Pelé goes tumbling to the carpet) to get to Existentialism, winding up, by a commodious vicus of recirculation not quite by Howth and environs but at least the Thriller section, only to find yourself confronted with the self-same person, seeing as the bookstore is only three aisles large itself, a true justification for Barnes and Noble if there ever were, and confronted with the awful statement that you, yourself, did indeed disabuse the word Truth of its very own Truth, thus rendering history a farce of astronomical proportions, or at least awkward at dinner parties)) and (re)making history to have the Ides of March falling in the slightly more convenient period between 14 and 21 May, a more much handy proposition than the current, rather awkwardly persistent insistence that it/they fall in March in addition to cleaning up that whole teenage thing you happened to go through and perhaps making history a lot more kind to wombats) our one hundredeth issue at www.sanemagazine.com. disclaimer: This issue actually doesn't compile with under tcl, which is all right, since it's an interpreted language. I once had a great dream of chartering a boat and sailing across the ocean (which, I won't tell). At the moment, I could do with a hammock strong enough for two, a glass of lemonade (again, strong enough for at least two), and a sunny patch of space over which to hang a hammock, suitable for two, perhaps with a glass of lemonade, again, suitably strong, sitting within a reasonable distance (say someone's arm reach, should they feel so inclined to reach out and grab a glass of lemonade, and perhaps wish to share). And perhaps a table on which the lemonade might be rested once it's no longer necessary. But, to be honest, the table isn't really essential.