Today I awoke to a wide-opened window inhaling the ripe breath of autumn. I looked out my window to see what the day would be offering me and I only found a heap of broken images dry fall leaves littering the floor, barren trees with their arms out to the sky in supplication. The sun was deceptively bright and the air startingly cold. Instead of lamenting the summer and the intoxicating moments of torpor that went with it, I thought I would celebrate Fall and the best that it has to offer us. And so I give you

MrMary’s Bitterly Pressed: The Best that Autumn has to Offer

Are you fucking ready for this

Everyone Uses Pumpkins in the most Creative Ways, Even the Porn Industry is not exempt

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Everyone eats to excess. But don’t let Thanksgiving fool you, there is a slice of pie that no one’s eating. Unfortunately thanksgiving is more about stuffing birds not eating them out

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This is the season for the mind-raping presidential election coverage.Safety words don’t work and you can’t change the channel. You are force to take it and a take it deep. It’s not going to be easily to swallow, all the aberrant information you are lambasted with, and it wont be over soon

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Nature‘s dying all around us – this very romantic.

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

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The Fall Scenary is only beautiful because it is a subtle reminder of our own mortality and outwardly man of us in American we drown our mortal anxiety in big meals

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Luckily for us all this escape from reality into the etherised embrace of banality becomes the thousands of blog posts on recipes and new ways to cram animal even more dead than we are inside into our fat fucking mouths.

ts eliot — A paintign of the Wasteland. TS Eliots most celebrated collection of poetry was called the Wasteland from which the following poem comes from

LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question….
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.