It isn't fair that so few animals have to rescue their antlers from the dens of rich men. They weep silently in the woods yet carry on the daily of lives of coffee and conversation. The squirrels are such gossips--nice but tricky. Don't trust them. When the weather changes so will your hair and I won't recognize you. Stay inside and I'll contact you by phone. Let it ring twice. Be there when I call. Quarters are hard to come by. I'll search the cracks in the asphalt. It's mostly gum and stones and the caverns of the ant empire. They wouldn't know what to do with a nickel if they had one. Buy yourself a better life! You have six arms but no bank account. No social security. Your stock and bond holdings are laughable. It makes me sick to my stomach. I'm not one to talk. I lost my ass in IBM after the supercomputer destroyed the senator's home. Took a killing that week. Time heals all wounds, but, at the same time, the technology keeps getting deadlier. When will it end? And how? If this were a horse race, I'd put my money the shifty eyed stud. You can't win without eye-gouging in this world. That's how they fill their pockets. Look close and you'll see lashes under the nails. It would take a forensic scientist as big as the sun to collect all the evidence. Damn! I get so sleepy these days.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Bus Station Dispatch 01: Diary of a Schizophrenic Blogger, Or How the Bugs Will Eat the Armor of the Divine
Here's a new column. I basically write without thinking: let my fingers do the talking with no direction at all. What comes out sounds like the ramblings of a crazy person.