Hookers or Cake

Where the self-obsessed get serious about silly
I'm too wacky to be hip.

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      ------------------------------------ There was a large painting of Evel Knievel shaking hands with Richard Nixon. It hung in the Mayors office. Late one evening after everyone went home. I took it down to the lab. I zoomed in on Evel’s left eye a 100x and enhanced it. It was an address. I went to the address. It was a modest, 1970’s style, split level ranch home in the suburbs.

      ----------------------------------- Inside I found a dead parrot lying on a waterbed. I revived the parrot with some saltines and adrenaline. We became good friends. The parrots name was Randy. One night a few years later while Randy and me played Gin Rummy, he sang me a song about a fire. The title of this blog was never mentioned but I sensed it, and Randy confirmed it by giving me ‘THE LOOK’.

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          • January 28, 2011 11:28 pm
            “…my realities were getting mixed up.  It only happened at first in fleeting moments. It was like I was daydreaming. I’d hear a voice or a sound and I’d find myself listening intently. I’d be standing in the kitchenette area of my office at work and I’d find myself listening to the water in the sink. It would remind me of something and I’d close my eyes trying to remember and then its as if I’d forget myself in what I’m hearing. I become immersed in the rebirth of memory. Suddenly I’d remember that I was making a sandwich at my kitchen counter at home. And I’d be there making a sandwich in my kitchen and then I’d open my eyes and be back in my office rinsing out the coffee pot. This went on for quite some time. Stepping in and out of my past and present. Then one day I stepped into another reality all together.There was a man who I realized was actually the soul of a bear. He wept a lot and danced by himself. He wore an old suit and a little hat and spoke of the great mother. I would visit the man/bear at night when I’d first lay down for bed. “Mother is hurt,” he would cry. And I would put my hand on his shoulder, slow dance with him and whisper him this song.it went a little something like thisDon’t be afraid of what is or what isn’tor what was or whatever shall bejust smile and listencuz there’s a song in your hearta sun blazing in black spaceand a face that will set you freenow the face it aint Jesus and it aint the Buddhait aint president Eisenhowerand the face, well it sure as hell aint melook in your heart and you’ll findyour own dear sweet motherlook in your heart and you’ll the nature of all thingsand I’d sing to the bear/man all throughout the evening and when I would awake I would be quite refreshed and peaceful. One night it dawned upon me to ask the bear/man a question. I told him about my problems with stepping in and out of realities. He assured me that there was no such thing as a problem and then he handed me a gun and I shot and killed him.”- an except from the written confession of Simon Cowell who was arrested today on a charge of 1st degree murder of a man in London, England

            “…my realities were getting mixed up.  It only happened at first in fleeting moments. It was like I was daydreaming. I’d hear a voice or a sound and I’d find myself listening intently. I’d be standing in the kitchenette area of my office at work and I’d find myself listening to the water in the sink. It would remind me of something and I’d close my eyes trying to remember and then its as if I’d forget myself in what I’m hearing. I become immersed in the rebirth of memory. Suddenly I’d remember that I was making a sandwich at my kitchen counter at home. And I’d be there making a sandwich in my kitchen and then I’d open my eyes and be back in my office rinsing out the coffee pot. This went on for quite some time. Stepping in and out of my past and present.

             Then one day I stepped into another reality all together.

            There was a man who I realized was actually the soul of a bear. He wept a lot and danced by himself. He wore an old suit and a little hat and spoke of the great mother. I would visit the man/bear at night when I’d first lay down for bed.

            “Mother is hurt,” he would cry.

            And I would put my hand on his shoulder, slow dance with him and whisper him this song.

            it went a little something like this

            Don’t be afraid of what is or what isn’t
            or what was or whatever shall be

            just smile and listen
            cuz there’s a song in your heart
            a sun blazing in black space
            and a face that will set you free

            now the face it aint Jesus and it aint the Buddha
            it aint president Eisenhower
            and the face, well it sure as hell aint me
            look in your heart and you’ll find
            your own dear sweet mother
            look in your heart and you’ll the nature of all things

            and I’d sing to the bear/man all throughout the evening and when I would awake I would be quite refreshed and peaceful. One night it dawned upon me to ask the bear/man a question. I told him about my problems with stepping in and out of realities. He assured me that there was no such thing as a problem and then he handed me a gun and I shot and killed him.”

            - an except from the written confession of Simon Cowell who was arrested today on a charge of 1st degree murder of a man in London, England

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