KEEPING TRACK: The Burning Bush memory exercise pt. I

So, don't worry. So I didn't.

Let's play a new game.

George W. Bush in Spanglish-variant twisting words could be strained and reduced in to Jorge Árbusto, in the sense that he's a Texas good 'ol boy in exile up North amongst the worst of the upper-crust filth, he'd be something more coked-out like J.R., frankly he's a junior, he knows it, so, yeah, anyway, J.R. Bustos flows the best in my head. So, perhaps he might say something slightly off-putting about the history of our presence in the middle east, and, the implications for the development of the vague, impersonal doctrine of a free-market, deregulated Democracy in this region: "le doy a nuestra historia para decidir lo que había pasado," in response to the question, "¿Qué piensas, tú, hombre fuera de los 'insiders' en teoría, sobre la legacia tuya sobre las guerras de Afghanistan y Iraq, también la situación de la región sobre el desarrollo de el vago concepto griego (¿Clásico?), Democracía?"

It is clear to me now, that there is a distinct connection between an epic poem and and epithet; each distinct entities offers something to lose, something to gain, rarely, if ever, equally; what are we afraid of, you must ask, to whom do you call a higher power? What is it that's bringing you down, my good friend, amiguito? Is it the fact that nobody can actually make money during the work week anymore? Is that not insane, or at least leading one to believe that there must be a way to stop clinging to the easy habits? Praising god and passing the ammunition, if that's the legacy, one of fire and brimstone for the sinners who pray before and after dinner, maybe we're pushing the wrong kind of separation in our legislative offices. What is the purpose of public policy, when you are trying to cover up your privates?! If we've left the garden, so prove it under the trees covered in leaves in mid-atlantic autumn. If not, then, what's wrong?
1) Snakes, fucking, everywhere.

2) Pirates; namely land-based.

3) Lazy, useless lists.

4) Corporate consumption.

5) Norm Coleman's campaign trying to cockblock Al Franken at the Sadie Hawkin's dance that we call the Senate.

6) Repressive Tolerance in the form of hyperlinking.

7) Worms (Ancient German city-state) is, like, a lot like any number of historical atrocities, the scale of the holocaust moves
the burden of genocide on anyone with a brain or a heart.

8) Learning through trial and error is usurped by the (john) stark(s) fear of dealing with consequences.

9) The flashing lights on screens that are usually being leased, for the express purpose of simulating a form of enjoyment that many refer to as 'the good fucking' or samizdat.

10) Flashing lights in the streets regulating on a seemingly two-dimensional basis, preventive medicine for invisible diseases.

So, here's the first installment of the wise words of one JR Bustos:
J.R. 'Walker' Bustos (Jorge Caminero Árbusto)

Looking back on things, historically speaking of course, you brute, we are a confederation of some sort; I let you fuck me for free cause you fucked my mom and my dad right in front of me you sick fuck, the smell is of death here and sex, fear that maybe the babies won’t live forever in harmony, so there’s no time for discourse on discord on disk to keep something occupied to the point that the grey matter pops like the pimple of some institution’s hairy ass. The consortia, stuffing in the turkey, ‘Atta Türk of Democracy, spread out, available in Tahini-freestyle, in to the sand, just like the wild, thorny bushes of a Texas Ranch: Caldo y Muy Pico. The species, kindmen, knew so little as a whole, often times it seems things don’t translate so well, when dividing all it sees in to a ballot box of a single language, regardless if it is the language of that individual who wishes to express an opinion; the stuffing or is it the shell that one finds most satisfying, do I have to choose? Let history decide if I derided my own kind for being a good old boy. Hmm, is impeaching él, el presidente, is based on prescience or precedence? Dad was a bomber too, I had to defuse all I could before there was another explosion! The boner-killer, mother-lover, divine worshipper, looks like something familiar, something similar to the olde tyme, where there was a sense of personality in the fatal blow struck.


FORTUNE: Barry Gibb is glib this Saddat Tay, we must kill z drumloops, hate hate hate, rest in peace.