#October2020

Monday Morning Commute: Sometimes The End Is Beautiful

monday morning commute sometimes the end is beautiful

Sometimes the end is an ugly, horrid affair. Other times, the end can be beautiful. Which is how I’d like to frame the onset of Autumn, you know? View it more as an excuse to get comfy, hunker down with some arts&farts, and wait out this COVID calamity. ‘Cause the other perspective? Is being shut-in for six months or so, separated from the Old Ways and the Distanced Friends. So, fuck! Let’s be positive about everything, right? Or at least try.

This here is Monday Morning Commute! And, I’m about to list all the shit I’m enjoying this week Then, I hope you’ll join me in the comments section. What are you partaking in, this week? Got any dope horror movies lined up? Playing the new World of Warcraft patch? Got some music you’re rocking out to? I want to know!

Let’s spend some time together, as the sun sets earlier, and the beautiful end draws near.

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Monday Morning Commute: Welcome To A.P. Poor Taste

monday morning commute ap poor taste

What’s up, slugs? Are you existing in a marmalade of twinkling optimism and oppressive anxiety? Or, is that just my bipolar ass? Either way, welcome! For me, it’s a gloomy-as-fuck Tuesday, following a long weekend. Which means that everything requires just a smidge more emotional energy than usual, and if I’m being honest, I feel as though everything costs more emotional energy for me than most.

That’s neither here nor there, though. I mean, right? That ain’t the point of this shit, Monday Morning Commute (on a Tuesday). No, no! Indeed, the point is to share what I’m anticipating and enjoying this specific week. Then, I hope you’ll join my ass in the comments.

Regal me, motherfuckers! Regal me with your own happenings! I beg. I plead. I demand.

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Monday Morning Commute: Deus Ex Slopculture

slopculture

It’s another edition of Monday Morning Commute, folks. Borne up out of the primordial sludge that are my synapses. Rotted neuro-wires shooting electricity aimlessly across the hollowed-dome of my brain-piece. My poor taste strained through the rotting diaper filled with the refuse of a consumed Elder One’s husk.

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