Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Early & Pearly
It's 4 A.M. and I am awake--suddenly--and thinking, dreaming, something like this:
this (mind you, I sampled the homemade hooch until around 1 A.M.):
Simon Wiesenthal is dead. Gatemouth Brown is dead. And yet Dick Cheney is alive, more or less.
The former two (in spite, or perhaps because of their flaws) demanded to know how that could be in my dream.
I can't find my glasses. I have to pick the last of the chile before the frost in a few minutes.
If I don't make sense, don't blame me. Blame those lost glassses and that damned little limn of corn oil that floats on the whiskey. Old timers say to strain it through stale bread, and I didn't, so I'll smell like corn all day.
And that's the news from here.
In memory of Gatemouth Brown, I will redouble my organizing eforts for '06. And in memory of Wiesenthal, I'll be tenacious as hell about it.
this (mind you, I sampled the homemade hooch until around 1 A.M.):
Simon Wiesenthal is dead. Gatemouth Brown is dead. And yet Dick Cheney is alive, more or less.
The former two (in spite, or perhaps because of their flaws) demanded to know how that could be in my dream.
I can't find my glasses. I have to pick the last of the chile before the frost in a few minutes.
If I don't make sense, don't blame me. Blame those lost glassses and that damned little limn of corn oil that floats on the whiskey. Old timers say to strain it through stale bread, and I didn't, so I'll smell like corn all day.
And that's the news from here.
In memory of Gatemouth Brown, I will redouble my organizing eforts for '06. And in memory of Wiesenthal, I'll be tenacious as hell about it.
