sanemagazine: wonderful rubbish

I am going to be one of those old men who, on planes and other suitably captivating voyages, accosts fellow passengers and begins to unload a live's-worth of sanemagazine outtakes and rejects (a possibly unexciting (if you look at the rejects thus far, which no, you can't) or lengthy (if this carries on much longer) prospect.

I can feel it in my bones, and that certain rambling thread in my head. It's a sort of maroon feeling.
Which is interesting, the feeling being maroon, or at least it's something, albeit a bit on the dull side.

------------------------------------------------

So we're landing in Paris now.

------------------------------------------------

I have an incredibly lucky streak, still (I know, I know, "Shut yer gob about the lucky streak or hold off these barmy horoscopes and start doing something worthwhile like racing picks," you say.). Despite myself, and despite the railway systems of both France and Italy, I still find myself your belovèd Head Editor of sanemagazine, a popstar, part of a dream, and stupidly lucky.

Good night, thank you for listening.

disclaimer:
In the soft flourescence and hazy sort of cabin air, stretching and reaching, my hand went out across the armrest and out and _¯¯


now	\|	archives	\|	horoscopes	\|	contacts	\|	home


				Are Those Clouds or Mountains?
		archives horoscopes contacts fables home		I am going to be one of those old men who, on planes and other suitably captivating voyages, accosts fellow passengers and begins to unload a live's-worth of sanemagazine outtakes and rejects (a possibly unexciting (if you look at the rejects thus far, which no, you can't) or lengthy (if this carries on much longer) prospect. I can feel it in my bones, and that certain rambling thread in my head. It's a sort of maroon feeling. Which is interesting, the feeling being maroon, or at least it's something, albeit a bit on the dull side. ------------------------------------------------ So we're landing in Paris now. ------------------------------------------------ I have an incredibly lucky streak, still (I know, I know, "Shut yer gob about the lucky streak or hold off these barmy horoscopes and start doing something worthwhile like racing picks," you say.). Despite myself, and despite the railway systems of both France and Italy, I still find myself your belovèd Head Editor of sanemagazine, a popstar, part of a dream, and stupidly lucky. Good night, thank you for listening. disclaimer: In the soft flourescence and hazy sort of cabin air, stretching and reaching, my hand went out across the armrest and out and _¯¯

Are Those Clouds or Mountains?