Fumpwuggles is lately my favorite made-up word and they are the Facebook people who only read their own stuff. Some like calling them narcissists and it's appropriate but so boring.
Crumpwuggles are the Facebook collectors who have three or four thousand or more, um, friends. For some, they still think Facebook has some value for anything more than penny ante promotion even if you don't pay Zuckerberg for more.
The crumpwuggles are easily identifiable so those burn off quickly but the fumpwuggles are harder to spot. You may even know them but still their only intentions are for you to read their stuff. In that situation I'm only a meat.
Usually you have to dust off the fumpwuggles yourself because they won't ever see you flipping the bird at them. The regulars saw a recent somewhat selfie which flips quite a fine bird. Regrettably, the fumpwuggles were not likely to ever see it.
Sometimes people take what I write personally and I'm not going to analyze why since it makes little sense to do it in the first place. I'm more than happy to dust off an entire belief group in the Angelic Atheist Army so any personal aspect should clearly be shown to be rubbish.
Don't be telling me about death, you presumptuous fuck. I'm staring straight at it and I'll fucking tell you.
So, yah, I couldn't care less if that entire group feels I'm biting their butts.
There will be references to death but worry is misplaced because the bell does toll for thee but the beauty part is you can hear it.
Geezers understand implicitly the tolling of the bell and the perspective is not the same from a younger view, it may not even be possible to grasp. Perhaps in the case of Hendrix or other especially insightful people but not likely for most of us and perhaps why people love him so much; he could see it.
Things are turning nasty and I don't want crumbs to watch so this continues until it feels there is some sensibility to the vibe. Meanwhile saying sorry for regrettable things is all very well but uploading songs in the finest quality I can produce says, for me, more than words ever will. The songs make no money that isn't what I'm trying to do, the songbird needs to sing because people always love it when she does.
That the music makes no money is something which has been slagged quite a bit particularly when things went swimmingly as the cartoon rock god in Second Life. There wasn't supposed to be success and it's been there for forty-five years after the military because you're shit, you're a disgrace, you shouldn't even be breathing. Even though I knew what was necessary and did it, I still agreed with them and it was not hard to convince me. I did stand my ground but I'm forever a worthless piece of shit for it. Anyone else's opinion is irrelevant and the only one to convince is myself. That wasn't for killing people but rather because I would not.
The computer situation may have appeared to be success but it's obvious I was trying to make music for long before that time and for long after. That whole situation was never more than trying to find a way to pay for it because I specifically did not want to play in bars. I wanted the vision from when I was a kid and to find a way to make that happen. Computers were hoped to have facilitated that in some way but they did not and now I only use computers for jacking around solo.
Fulfilling that vision was the only way of fully absolving myself with myself and it nearly worked. That blowed-up real good and analysis is pointless as the only consideration is it didn't happen. Therefore the move is to keep trying in any available direction to make it happen another way and that's exactly why all the lights, lasers, and illusions in the Rockhouse because it's toward the willing suspension of disbelief to be able to accept the reality of it.
On coming away from it no-one really knows if what I sing or play is real in any particular context but that seed nevertheless is planted. It became clear through all this the vision is impossible to find and it has to be wherever I am. In that context everything in the videos is real but I need the suspension of disbelief before anyone will accept it.
The fumpwuggles and the crumpwuggles who disappear don't matter because they would not have accepted it anyway. The important thing is that which remains which should be the real part.
Even with the least of means, they know the happiness of share and share alike. The cynic asks if they children were asked or paid to strike the pose but that's losing your suspension of disbelief because it doesn't matter either way. They don't seem to be walking in step with each other so set your OCD-ridden analytical mind to that.
Crumpwuggles are the Facebook collectors who have three or four thousand or more, um, friends. For some, they still think Facebook has some value for anything more than penny ante promotion even if you don't pay Zuckerberg for more.
The crumpwuggles are easily identifiable so those burn off quickly but the fumpwuggles are harder to spot. You may even know them but still their only intentions are for you to read their stuff. In that situation I'm only a meat.
Usually you have to dust off the fumpwuggles yourself because they won't ever see you flipping the bird at them. The regulars saw a recent somewhat selfie which flips quite a fine bird. Regrettably, the fumpwuggles were not likely to ever see it.
Sometimes people take what I write personally and I'm not going to analyze why since it makes little sense to do it in the first place. I'm more than happy to dust off an entire belief group in the Angelic Atheist Army so any personal aspect should clearly be shown to be rubbish.
Don't be telling me about death, you presumptuous fuck. I'm staring straight at it and I'll fucking tell you.
So, yah, I couldn't care less if that entire group feels I'm biting their butts.
There will be references to death but worry is misplaced because the bell does toll for thee but the beauty part is you can hear it.
Geezers understand implicitly the tolling of the bell and the perspective is not the same from a younger view, it may not even be possible to grasp. Perhaps in the case of Hendrix or other especially insightful people but not likely for most of us and perhaps why people love him so much; he could see it.
Things are turning nasty and I don't want crumbs to watch so this continues until it feels there is some sensibility to the vibe. Meanwhile saying sorry for regrettable things is all very well but uploading songs in the finest quality I can produce says, for me, more than words ever will. The songs make no money that isn't what I'm trying to do, the songbird needs to sing because people always love it when she does.
That the music makes no money is something which has been slagged quite a bit particularly when things went swimmingly as the cartoon rock god in Second Life. There wasn't supposed to be success and it's been there for forty-five years after the military because you're shit, you're a disgrace, you shouldn't even be breathing. Even though I knew what was necessary and did it, I still agreed with them and it was not hard to convince me. I did stand my ground but I'm forever a worthless piece of shit for it. Anyone else's opinion is irrelevant and the only one to convince is myself. That wasn't for killing people but rather because I would not.
The computer situation may have appeared to be success but it's obvious I was trying to make music for long before that time and for long after. That whole situation was never more than trying to find a way to pay for it because I specifically did not want to play in bars. I wanted the vision from when I was a kid and to find a way to make that happen. Computers were hoped to have facilitated that in some way but they did not and now I only use computers for jacking around solo.
Fulfilling that vision was the only way of fully absolving myself with myself and it nearly worked. That blowed-up real good and analysis is pointless as the only consideration is it didn't happen. Therefore the move is to keep trying in any available direction to make it happen another way and that's exactly why all the lights, lasers, and illusions in the Rockhouse because it's toward the willing suspension of disbelief to be able to accept the reality of it.
On coming away from it no-one really knows if what I sing or play is real in any particular context but that seed nevertheless is planted. It became clear through all this the vision is impossible to find and it has to be wherever I am. In that context everything in the videos is real but I need the suspension of disbelief before anyone will accept it.
The fumpwuggles and the crumpwuggles who disappear don't matter because they would not have accepted it anyway. The important thing is that which remains which should be the real part.
Even with the least of means, they know the happiness of share and share alike. The cynic asks if they children were asked or paid to strike the pose but that's losing your suspension of disbelief because it doesn't matter either way. They don't seem to be walking in step with each other so set your OCD-ridden analytical mind to that.
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