A Me and My Stuff Cube

I think this is nearly an eighth of all my stuff. Note the four handy Comic Con bags. Studio investment into using these bags for advertising continues to pay off as people see me lugging these things from my car to my apartment.

And I have internet, thanks to Time Warner. I don't have time to enjoy it now, though, because I still have lots of stuff to shift. Fortunately this apartment has a ridiculous amount of storage space for a studio. I daresay I can accommodate almost everything. I wouldn't say no to a few bookcases, though. I ought to get a chair, too. I'm currently using a tote filled with books and DVDs as a seat.

I'd better get back to moving stuff so I can get to school in time for my test to-night. Please enjoy this backlog of Twitter Sonnets, now that I can copy and paste with ease again;

Twitter Sonnet #564

Horseshoe patronage steeps the dry alder.
Nameless black teas darkly stain four o'clock.
Candied teeth scratch chalk from the white boulder.
Pallid parties flaunt their bloodless new stock.
Drifting concrete veins'll yet say nothing.
Soft peeling white clouds are counterfeit brow.
Hatching tires hold no curse or blessing.
Spite seeps like sod behind a fragile plough.
Toadstools turn out the pantless and frogged.
Antique windshield wipers write old figures.
Bacon tags are in the deli morgues logged.
Beyond pale doughnut holes are blank triggers.
Blue crates of fake tofu are eldritch cheese.
Umbrella brows tangle during strip tease.

Twitter Sonnet #565

Bloodsucking flamingos gulp lemon dye. Juvenile vizirs confer with tin. Helium glee answers to transfat pie. Diamonds cut the raindrop cyclone case men. Milkless melodies twist into the tea. Vegan cookies will sew heaven's assam. Orange sunset traced a wonderful black sea. Vinyl dreams march on Victorian land. Indolent lacquered sunflowers burn clouds. Cheap spaghetti's not allowed in the church. Sunday drives off the mortuary's shrouds. Queequeg left a cheap coffin in the lurch. Eight celled bathtubs fade the paper airplane. Frothing food court car men may seem insane.