Thursday, November 02, 2006

At A Dead Run


Ah, yes. In these strangest of strange days, who is to say what is real and what is not? It seems like reality flitters and changes with greater frequency than the pale-faced moon. (I expect a barrage of lawsuits from white people for that usage; forfend--I am the original whitest of white nigger--I am Irish-Welsh, descended from the indentured) THOUGH: In the last few weeks, I have been enfiladed with emails from, shall we at leat say, past personalities, and other flavors strange to the tongue. Here in the death of the year, Ubu Roi sings his song louder than ever.
Ah the ruins, though, my king; they are all I still treasure.....