Forget About What You Are

I Have A Deadline. I'm Glad. I Think That Will Help Me Get It Done.

They Lay There For A Few Seconds, In The Dark, In The Future, Listening To The Fabulous Clockwork Of Their Hearts And Lungs, And Loving Each Other

I Don't Care What Is Written," Meyer Landsman Says. "i Don't Care What Supposedly Got Promised To Some Sandal-wearing Idiot Whose Claim To Fame Is That He Was Ready To Cut His Own Son's Throat For The Sake Of A Hare-brained Idea. I Don't Care About Red Heifers And Patriarchs And Locusts. A Bunch Of Old Bones In The Sand. My Homeland Is In My Hat. It's In My Ex-wife's Tote Bag.

What Smells Strongly Of Crap To One Generation - Victorian Penny Dreadfuls, The Music Of The Archies, The Lone Ranger Radio Show, Blaxploitation Films Of The Seventies - So Often Becomes A Fruitful Source Of Inspiration, Veneration, And Study For Those To Come, While Certified Great And Worthy Art Molders And Fades On Its Storage Rack, Giving Off An Increasingly Powerful Whiff Of Naphthalene.

Not Only Would I Never Want To Belong To Any Club That Would Have Me For A Member--if Elected I Would Wear Street Shoes Onto The Squash Court And Set Fire To The Ballroom Curtains.