Mutagens remain in the environment. The disaster follows a now familiar course. During the early stages of the emergency clean-up a bestial man cried:
I sing in praise of older gutbuckets. I pledge to be benefic and soporific at court gatherings. I will pray 23 times daily and take no more than 5 morning constitutionals. I will no longer place myself in front of others (as naturally my space is above all others).
I will play my left handed guitar twice each morning and I will remain ghastly and pale in the afternoon cloud light. Later, by the night light, I will blow my right handed harmonica.
Play! Go, daddy, go!
If someone, anyone, calls me a child of the universe — I will go apeshit and devalue their municipal bonds and charge remainder pay to the government coiffers in buffet time.
Such is the nature of my sardonic tonic.
It blasts a hole in my imperium. Someone say, Amen, and shut up! Because that is what I’m about to do.
“Don’t leave writing to writers. Don’t delegate your area of interest and knowledge to people with stronger rhetorical resources… Most writers don’t write to express what they think. They write to figure out what they think. Writing is a process of discovery. Blogging is an essential tool toward meditating over an extended period of time on a subject you consider to be important.”
— Mark Weidenbaum / Disquiet.com