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sundown syndrome

the few hours between day and night
challenge motivation.

i can go either way.
left: couch, tv, taco bueno.
right: country drive, camera, sketchbook.

i never know which will win
but always hope there’s more to show
for this day

than sad-fitting pajama bottoms
flip-flops
bad skin
cat hair
C.O.P.S.

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Metrics

So I was thinking once again about science the other day. No particular field or brand of science. Just science. And about how different people understand certain values very differently. For example, a ton probably doesn’t mean much to an engineer designing massive dams, bridges, or skyscrapers. But it can mean quite a bit to a rodeo clown. Especially when the animal looking to exact its revenge on humankind weighs about that much AND has, at its extremities, hard, pointy things with which he hopes to impale someone. And while quantum physicists concern themselves with a world smaller than an atom, cosmologists’ calculations involve distances measured in light years and masses greater than that of our own sun. A fraction of a second can make all the difference in track and field, but cat-like reflexes aren’t exactly required to win the world chess championship. And while this is all very fascinating, what I find truly wonderful is how all of these people for whom those things on which the very balance of all life hangs differ with a magnitude of but an entire spectrum can live without killing one another. Ah science…

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In the spirit…

In the spirit of all the great images posted thus far, I’ll ante up. But first, a confession: when having spent any deal of time, regardless of duration, staring blankly into space, my brain will commonly assimilate the otherwise random patterns of carpet pile, the texture of common brick, neatly trimmed lawns, etc. into recognizable images. Take this image, for example. While standing at a urinal at the Denver International Airport, my wandering gaze (while not venturing beyond the commonly agreed-upon 30 degrees horizontally in either direction; an unspoken Code of the Urinal) glanced down and noticed a stain on the floor. At once both an “organic” geometry of dried biological spillage and a gaping maw sporting a black bow tie, the stain transformed from unrecognizable blob to halfway interesting graphic identification. Thank you, Complete Stranger’s Pee Pee, for this post…


Denver International Airport

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Getting Frank

Hi Franksters! Happy to be here. Feeling under the weather at the moment, unfortunately. But hopefully the Frankness will flow from me soon. Nurse Greeney sez: “Take your vitamins, kids!”

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Why “Pretty Frank”?

I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re down with Pretty Frank, both phonetically and philosophically. But why Pretty Frank at all? Because we feared “Gay Frankenstein,” despite its satisfying staccato rhythms, would attract a crowd expecting something they weren’t going to get: gay Frankenstein. We fought it and fought it. Every single potential title had a Frankenstein in it somewhere. But, thanks to some sudden inspiration, Wade divined the absolute most purfectest description of what you’re about to experience. So hold on to something not attached to your own body. Cause here we goooooo!!!!!…. Ooooooooohhhhhh!!!…. Oh. (It’s gonna get better, I promise…)

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We have a blog.

It will make you a lot happier.

And you just may lose weight.

thank you.

-wade

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