MP's Mailart Chronology, In Real Time!

Once again, my dear friend MP has sent me another one of his randomly filled envelopes via the US Postal Service. Not the god forsaken shitty WA band, but the real deal, the actual thing, the tangible vessel of package transit permeating our vacuum-like American landscape.
As I opened the envelope with the return address indicating Matt "mindless philosopher" Pamatmat, I took notes on exactly what I first pulled out. I normally sift through the pieces, then put together a short history of what MP has been up to in the past month or so. But this time, I "pull out" then "put up", so to speak. This is in real time, yeah, like when you first wake in the morn' and knock things around for a little while, maybe yr brain is knockin' around in yr head too. But somehow everything slowly comes into focus, and you begin your daily routine. This is real, this is the time that I speak of. From the moment you wake 'til the moment you fall asleep, time just goes, and you can't go back and you can't go ahead. You are there, in the moment, dealing with life, life dealing you, maybe? Good, bad, happy, sad, every moment is something, and you live it. This is happening right now.

Fast band, white and cut maybe from MP's arm at some point. It could be that MP was at a show or some event that required his wearing of the "fast band", but maybe later MP was sick of the thing, so he ripped it off. Jasper may have slobbered on it a bit too. Who knows? Photo of three cats sitting around in a non-descript back bedroom located at 1055 Avondala somewhere in America. The names appear to be Frodo, Bertie, and Farmer Giles of Ham aka VDK (Virginia Ditch Kitty). The latter cat seems prissy and pussy. MP took Jasper down to the Petaluma Regional Library on 3/21/05 and checked out some Elmo books (or videos?) I don't know, but I do know that Elmo is not Emo and Emo means dyed black hair, spiked belt, too-short pants, and bad skin. Maybe from a cereal box, or some other such Safeway product, a top was torn revealing R2D2 saying the same thing as MP's return address. C3PO is nowhere in site, but a little feller I know says that I remind him of the golden droid. Taiwanese stickers with clumsy monkeys trying to skateboard makes me high. Scientology is for losers, but I guess Beck sang about being a loser a long time ago, and maybe he was trying to tell us something? But nobody understood his cry and now the guero gets his negative energies eliminated by taking frequent e-meter tests. MP does not agree with Beck's easy route to be free, and nor do I. Grandma, I'm a man, and when I got glazed last night Celeste made some mac & cheese. MP feels soul eyes and a dick, a long skinny dick. Remember that shitty, poser, hair-metal band called Night Ranger? Well, one of the douchebag members lives in Marin, but I think the whole band was from Sonoma County at one point. MP found a little article about this NR guy called Jeff Watson, and I don't know if that is the singer or what -- "motorhead, feels like I'm on fire" Well, that's what I thought that dipshit sang on NR's only hit song "Sister Christian", but I think this guy here is the guitarist for the band, and the stupidest paper ever, the Pacific Sun, ran the story, go figure. Lastly and most certainly deservedly, I pull out The Hairy One, and boy is he a site for sore eyes. This Saturday we go to the Hairy One's namesake bar in SF to try and get an autistic man drunk, and then maybe have the bar set on fire. We'll invite The Hairy One for some s'mores, then sail bottles all over the crooked streets of SF. A glorious time to behold, indeed.