Monday, December 1, 2014
A Weaver of Declines
A Weaver of Declines cannot be a title. It just can't. Nor am I certain what picture to put on the front cover. But I do know one thing. When looking at the statistics, free things are considerably more cheerful and bouncy than un-free things which are all kind of guarded and tense and surrounded by barbed wire and protected by pompous ass guards with IPods and promises of two weeks in Cancun and elegant haircuts and some kind of concealed carry permit for a laser weapon.
And when I think about the Buffalo, especially around the festive season, I begin to feel an intense sadness. Everyone from the totally pointless Brookstone catalogue to some mental patient with a buy me jack hammer beating on him as though he was endless and forever and you could do what ever you wanted to him because he's a half wit and maybe a little stupid. Run free Buffalo, get the hell out of town Jack, stop padding around in shops and peeing in the gutter. It's very unattractive and only encourages the bastards.