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v.01 It's the hairs on the back of your neck, that's what they say, but that's not quite right. It's more like a weakness in the crook of the arm, the dull throb-tingle of an exhausted funny bone. Too many synapses sending too many jokes and how long did you say I had to keep this up? There is accommodation, there is deference, putting aside, stuffing in, covering over, but this is too much and was, weeks ago. They say it's a metallic taste, like holding a penny under your tongue, but I've never done that, have you? It's not something sane people do, anymore. Did they once? They did, he did, the talented one with vaulted cheeks and entire banks stuffed full of valuable melodies. These days pennies are artifacts and tongues wag too much or too little. Yesterday I could have died in the street. Tastebuds couldn't care less about ethics. Pennies are dirty and useless. They've lost their luster, never had much to begin with. I have some in albums, neatly categorized, stuffed into frayed cardboard circles. I like pennies, me, but then I always like things that long ago outlived their usefulness. Two questions for now: 1.) Who is stealing and when will they stop? 2.) Have you always felt this way? Posted by Melissa Price at 08:52 PMHere it comes. Z: It's good, I'll give him that. But what do you think of the placement? Does it strike you as unsettlingly asymmetrical? A: I don't know, man. It is where it is. Z: What about the hue? A: It's got several hues. They change a lot. Z: Yeah, but right now it's kind of indistinct, you know? I want more definiteness, more drama. I want to know where he's coming from. A: Who? Z: Yeah, he definitely has to commit more. All those fuzzy, wussy shades of yellow and orange. Almost orange. What shade would you call that? A: Yeah well, it is kind of hazy. Z: And the background--I hate to say it, but it's been done. Right? Am I right? I mean, I can appreciate the effort, but ... A: Yeah. It is a classic color scheme by now: orange and blue. But I'd say he was one of the first to implement it. Z: I don't know, I'm not feeling it dude. A: Yeah well, in any case, you shouldn't stare at it like that. Z: Why? A: Bad for the eyes. Z: Really? That's rad! I can get behind that. You can't spell true art without d-a-n-g-e-r. A: Whatever. Like I said, if I were you I'd stop staring. Z: Is it really bad for the eyes? Or is that just an urban myth the guy started because he couldn't stand the scrutiny? I mean, seriously dude, look at that and tell me it couldn't use more definition ... more precision. It's just looking all cloudy to me. A: Yeah well, it is hazy, dude. Z: I know! Right? A: It's so vague I could swear I'd seen it somewhere before. What's this guy's background? Z: No one seems to know. A: Of course. Z: Seriously man, put your sunglasses back on. That shit will blind you. A: Okay. Yeah, my neck is kind of hurting too. Why does he feel the need to hang that shit so high? Who does he think he is anyway? Z: Well, you won't be able to see it much longer anyway. The fog's rolling in. A: Okay, yeah. Z: Burrito? A: I'm about it dude, I'm about it. Posted by Melissa Price at 11:28 AM
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