doves into mockingbirds

February 14, 2007

There will also be these kinds of posts, and other kinds.

Several sickening crunches on my windshield have left me cursing low-flying doves. But it is not our hopes who are to blame for their being dashed, is it? Yet it is our hopes we punish all the same.

However, I am not now in a humorous mood, and you will get little mischief from me. Very little.

Almost none.

They do say that almost none can be split many ways like loaves and fishes, however. Therefore I will let my messiah complex guide the division, though methinks he borrowed the magical saw of Paul Daniels, that in mere seconds can split a beautiful assistant into a kaleidoscope of intestinal William Blake. What is that? Paul Daniels is now wanted for murder in six states? Then I will make the blade into a cold hammock, lie in it alone and listen to its teeth chatter about the sequioas it dreams of one day biting into. The crumbs have all been scoffed and the bones pulled from vices,

and there will be no more mischief for the moment.

Until tomorrow, when my humour returns on a white charger, having bartered a clean passport to Mr Daniels, who will in exchange turn those ridiculous doves into happy mockingbirds.

Goodnight all.



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