with libby big-house bound,

we hope, we can breathe for a sec.
i don’t know how to make the pink highlighter stop.
my computer exploded in the kitchen, like the meth lab behind matt and leroy’s house. legal, but lethal in its own way.
then jessica, my best friend, sent the hit it or quit it company emac via post.
all is back in order. i can look at the internet again. the pony sticker on the mast of the monitor is my spirit guide. totally riding an american quarterhorse through the web’s windy cloisters. free, free. you can tell we are free because our hairs are flailing.
shall return after i catch up on 200 hours of work and 1500 emails. but i just wantchya to know:
as of monday, out the trunk or on the subway, i will be offering issues of the eighteenth volume of HIT IT OR QUIT IT magazine to NYC and boroughs. dial j for fire (julianneshepherd@yahoo.com) if you desire a copy.
JAY Z & NAS IN ’08
[a pristine manifestation of '05 late-stage capitalism "squash beef / get paper"--merger mentality!-- and post-G-UNOT, up was the only way to go--but if we love jay more than either god, the god, or the sitting gov't, how important is it that rap's president and the VP from QB made a good-faith move in the midst of the "real" president's quicksand hour? This particular mending feels so big because the rest of the house is in shambles. Jay and Nas: THE NEW COVENANT.]

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One Response to with libby big-house bound,

  1. Dylan Garret says:

    “A Certain Ratio are then seen, a few years later, playing the opening of Wilson’s second Manchester club, The Hacienda, alleged birthplace of UK rave culture. (This birth seemed to consist of playing Chicago house very loud and turning on the flashing lights routine. In America, this is called disco. The moment an English person learned how to dance was apparently some serious shit.)”
    Okay, it wasn’t you that wrote it, but that shit sold me on HIOQI (even if the acronym didn’t — I had to double check that thing three times). Let us know what subway lines/street intersections to scout for these semi-illicit literary dealings. I’m feeling an F-train vibe from you all, but maybe that’s just me.

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