Mood Surgery

I was at some awards show with a topless woman, and Patrick Swayze was sitting a row back across the aisle. He wanted to sell me "Hong Kong broccoli." Patrick Swayze had an entire banana box full of Hong Kong broccoli on his lap, and he kept "psst"-ing and jiggling it at me with this imbecilic "Eh? Eh?" sorta grin, obviously, pathetically trying to dissuade me from my comely companion. I was like "Man, why is Patrick Swayze even here?" and then my alarm went off.
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Here is a band which, if such a thing were possible, might restore our appetite for the fundamental realities. The predominant note will seem one of bitterness, and bitterness there is, to the full. But there is also a wild extravagance, a mad gaiety, a verve, a gusto, at times almost a delerium. A continual oscillation between extremes, with bare stretches that taste like brass and leave the full flavor of emptiness. It is beyond optimism or pessimism. The band has given us the last frisson. Pain has no more secret recesses.

Anais Nin didn't say that.

I can't decide if this is in poor taste of me or not.
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