That’s great, it starts with a wedding cake, birds and bees and birthrates. Baudelaire is still clichéd. I want a hydroplane, listen to the Adverts, Roark serves his own needs but doesn’t know his own needs. Welcome back to Oxblog, grunt, no, strength, China starts to shatter with fear fight down spite. Patsy Cline’s on fire, is the government for hire, in a downed website–where’s my archives? Coming in a hurry with the furies blogging down my neck. NYT reporters baffled when the food drops, look at that low plane. Fine, then. Uh, oh, overthrow, Overman is coming through but it’ll do. Sara talks, Dogan heeds, world serves its own needs, listen to the heartbeat, dumb lyrics in “Rapture” and the Reverend isn’t right, right. Monty Python semaphoric Wuthering Heights, “Bright Lights,” feeling pretty psyched.

It’s the blog of the world as we watch it.

It’s the blog of the world as we watch it.

It’s the blog of the world as we watch it and I feel fine.

Eight o’clock TV hour. Visas let in hostile powers. Sing the blues, hard truths, listen to the bad news. Locking in, uniforming, book learnin’, “Bloodletting.” Moe Szyslak, Kaczmarek, Daleks and Les Volokh. Light a candle, light a votive. Step down, step down, watch your hare crush Fudd… uh-oh, Pope says no fear, cavalier, Renegade steer here. Eternal love, eternal life, or tournament of lies. Cause and solution, offerings unqualified and rodent minds.

It’s the blog of the world as we watch it.

It’s the blog of the world as we watch it.

It’s the blog of the world as we watch it and I feel fine.

My thoughts are all a case of knives, subcontinental drift divide. Nietzsche in a conga line, nihilist sunshine. Allan Bloom is Ravelstein, Lenny Bruce and Chester Himes. What’s a star? thus spake Zarathustra, boom! You disaffected, patriotic, punk rock girl, right? Right.

It’s the blog of the world as we watch it.

It’s the blog of the world as we watch it.

It’s the blog of the world as we watch it and I feel fine.

Now I’ve finally got a phone…

Timon of Athens is alone…

I love it ’cause it’s my home…

I will write a giant tome…

Spires are nice, but so are domes…

Where’d they put that garden gnome…

OK, that was deeply satisfying to me. Compare with lyrics here. And now I’m gone ’til Thursday. Meanwhile, enjoy the links to your left.