“—If the body actually breathes that is—yes the tissues pulse and gases are exchanged, but does the body breathe?” “Yeah, it’s like a hiccup. The body has needs.” “Yeah but ‘Needs’ aren’t bodily things.” “Uh, but my bodily cock has needs.” “Needs are phenomenological. Hydrogen pumps, gradients, ionic channels, osmosis, those are bodily events—the body does those—but a need, or a total event like breathing, is superimposed by the mind—anything that doesn’t have a specific spac

One should, at all times and states of mind, possess a working knowledge of the complex personal and musical relationship between Simon & Garfunkel. Whilst observing item No. 1, one should not be smug nor competitive about their knowledge, but rather present such information in a sincere manner and in a meaningful context that invites others to engage in artistic and/or political dialogue. One should really have some idea of who wrote the songs (i.e. how many, in what proport

There were many times of year, and this was definitely one of them. Especially in those days. The Local Radio Station (KLRS) was hosting a contest, and Trent wanted to be involved. Really involved. (how stupid…) The contest was related to the radio station’s annual tradition of voting for one’s favorite new albums of the year, a fairly common radio activity. The voters would be entered into a drawing to win a copy of the radio station’s own voted-upon album of tracks compiled

I am searching for my soul. I am my burning soul. I am desperate to save my soul. I am faced with dilemma. I am distraught. I am scared. I am failure. I am accidentally befriended. I am momentarily elevated. I am contorted. I am disoriented. I am rescued. I am reassured. I am victory. I am resolve. I am quietly advancing. I am in company. I am avoiding detection. I am locked out. I am looking at a drove of myself. I am different stages of decomposition. I am sickened. I am fr

The radio was not the most impressive thing in the room, but the message bleeding from its tiny forgettable speakers clearly left an impression on Poor Leonard Havent. The room was stuffed full of taxidermy: hollow-eyed deer heads staring back at him; growling bobcats and snarling coyotes stopped mid-prowl; a trio of Canadian Geese frozen in flight; a peacock standing proudly displaying his ornate train of covert feathers; the bare skulls of numerous animals that Poor Leonard

I witnessed a beautiful young girl drop her groceries today, only seconds after purchasing them. She was foolishly holding her worthless paper bags, which she had just paid extra for, by the worthless paper handles, which were held on by nothing more than a couple worthless tacks of glue. But the glue was not the weak link. Being made of 100% recycled content, the handles themselves were of such poor structural consistency that they simply snapped under the weight of probably