What Your Week Has In Store

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Bats by

Some bats are metaphorical, having metaphorical lice, symbolic rabies, and other unknown pathogens of irony—they are my preferred bat. But the bats in your area are all rather amorous.

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Anarchic Primitivism by

Which is why you should probably upgrade your iPhone to a dog and move into a yurt in the woods of northern Minnesota to live a simple bucolic life off the grid, one devoid of all pop figurations and technological ecstasy, out there beyond the simulation.

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What It Means To Be A Man by

Your insistence to dress in drag to Toby Keith’s I Love This Bar And Grill may not prove as contrary as you might wish. “Say there lil lady,” some fat honky will say, releasing equal parts stinky Old Spice and a kind of Mich Golden Lite mist all over your face.

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On The Lam by

Beauty and truth are waiting in California but they are not going to wait very long. Meanwhile the mystical emanations that’ll be shining from certain words’ll be shining brighter than ten thousand stars: Daimonic, Lana Del Rey, Vorstellung.