I would have figured on some kind of seasonal epilogue, something somewhat passionate and profound, as much as can all things considered, and while ideally it would be stated in a few weeks, you know, october. But it isn't. This tattered season has done nothing but skullfuck me in a hundred fashions, because it was far more colossal than just a losing season. It isn't worth the words and it legitimately warrants my languid, lazy, fuck off to all things baseball. I'll still write, I still have anger that won't be excavated by me alone. The elements will kill all of us. So look forward to football, soul jams and general fodder for my dilapidated and perpetually shitstained heart. Thank you, Dodgers.
Soon I'll post a recipe for some weed glaze to put on cookies that hopefully have weed in them as well. Fuck all worlds. Wake me when it's over.