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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          • November 28, 2012 10:44 pm
            The island I grew up on had a Baby Raffle for Peace. I don’t know why it was called that, tradition I guess. People would take their babies and put them on little rafts and send them off into the dark waters. A lot of the time the babies would be crying and upset, but nothing bad ever happened to them. They would just kind cry themselves out and then be silent in all that darkness. Then we’d go over to the other island and five or six hours later the babies would drift up to the shore quiet as little babies starring up at the the nighttime sky and listening to the deep dark water. You have to learn to be alone. Or you will always be a little piece of shit, crying baby. Give your preciousness to the darkness and let it cry and cry until it dies.

            The island I grew up on had a Baby Raffle for Peace. I don’t know why it was called that, tradition I guess. People would take their babies and put them on little rafts and send them off into the dark waters. A lot of the time the babies would be crying and upset, but nothing bad ever happened to them. They would just kind cry themselves out and then be silent in all that darkness. Then we’d go over to the other island and five or six hours later the babies would drift up to the shore quiet as little babies starring up at the the nighttime sky and listening to the deep dark water.

            You have to learn to be alone. Or you will always be a little piece of shit, crying baby. Give your preciousness to the darkness and let it cry and cry until it dies.

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