Idle Lambs

You would think all the down time would be perfect for journal writing. Idle Lambs are the Devils playthings. What?

Yeah, No. I’ve had to use my attention to keep the earth spinning on its axis and other technical stuff like that, so, you’re fucking welcome. Oh, and I’ve got an ethanol vacuum extractor thingamabob. I winterize the ethanol and any variety of botanical, and the first wash (depending on the material, five minutes to five days) in the machine (2 hours on turbo) comes out as a pure concentrate.

Twitter is a freak show, it’s like if you take all your facebook friends all your favorite TV people and tied them at the tail and put one bowl of food enough for maybe three people in the middle. No, no, no wait, it’s like if Salvador Dali and Mark Chagall were in a duel in the fourth dimension over the affections of a single tit. Hold on, no, that’s not it, it’s like having 280 characters to explain why Humanity should be spared and realizing it’s not the character limit that has you stymied. There’s also some damn reasonable motherfuckers on there. I imagine if it were a physical place I’d sit on a stoop beneath an awning with the reasonable motherfuckers drinking tea and watching the horrible first act deem itself a passion play.

So, how’ve you been?