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The absolute best way to imagine Amsterdam is through Mike Starling’s fine art photos….historic architecture, cafes, canals, bicycles, intelligent graffiti, inviting storefronts, and people in a relaxed state of mind. Live Without Dead Time is an exquisite collection of perfectly captured colorful scenes—some are glimpses of another life, some are spontaneous, some reflect a documentarian—all are artistically framed to capture the best of Amsterdam. This book is for the imagination, since the images explode with possibilities and spawn creative thought. As a doorway to a city, Live Without Dead Time is well worth the cover charge.
Quadruple thinking my motive for posting a comment, I've come to rest on, "just to piss you off". How dare you abandon your blog in 2017! - What the fuck am I supposed to do - ever think about, 'Mr. Writer'? It's not that I should occupy your mind - an ethereal nemesis alien to us both - a 'writer' that doesn't write - what am I to make of it? Perhaps 'Mr. Writer', you should examine a career change - I recently saw a 'help wanted' sign at a truck stop on 94 for a 'Pubic Plucker'. Deeply intrigued, I asked the proprietor for details and he ushered me into the Men's Room and pointed to the blue plastic mesh at the bottom of the urinal - "Clogs up" is all he said. "I got just the guy", I told him - "Shit, he don't write no more.!"
ReplyDeleteSo, I nudge Mr. Writer and give him the tip, adding, "it may involve some classwork", which he brushes off with, "I'm a college grad - fool all of the people some of the time! Besides, I'm a writer he sez." Again, I'm intrigued - "then why don't you write?" "not enough in it for me." he replies, adding, "people don't know shit! I should be famous, you know - those dumbasses stopping me on the sidewalk for autographs, appearances (multiple) on Oprah, money to burn and the chicks for free - but nooooooo, I get stuck with a doorman gig - fuck em...fuck em all." So I go trite but true - "A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer...a bird sings because it has a song". Mr. Writer gives me a smug look - "I'll give that some consideration." he condescends. "Asshole", I whisper.
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