Amy made the shirt but neither of us wants to actually pay real money for it. It's better to find it at a thrift store and imagine what the person who died in it's life was like.
My friend Malcolm's beats. He was my best bud from, like, fourth grade through middle school — his early claims to fame were that he could play an endless boogie vamp on the piano, and that he could sing in a deep voice, like Clarence "Frogmouth" Henry.
Computer scientists seem to rather miss the point of the philosophical term "Ontology," but it's a neat article nonetheless.
Aedui is the only druid we know by name. And he was likely a total douche.
Marc Augé wrote that book about non-places that I want to read.
When you bringin' the Phrygian Cap back, hipsters?
Stooges Wax Museum.
Hrm. I don't think this is exactly what I want, but maybe I'll want it later. I want an English language catalog of all the works at the first Salon de Refuse. I could muddle through a German one. French does me fuck all. Shame it happened in France.
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