myoozick. meoooozik. myouzieck. moosik. myoooooooooozzzzikkk. meoosick.
Music.
____________________________________________
I don’t mean to seem at all ungrateful,
but the air-conditioned life has left me gasping for some real conversation. And just because Turing couldn’t possibly conceive a machine, with this little personality:
I’m working shifts in veal-fattening pens, and yet I’m puppy thin
because to tell the truth I was hanging on for something more
than distant dial tones and a sense of ending.
