Inkwell: Authors and Artists

    
ss off. Because we all want to blame someone else for decisions we
re-
  

    
litigated in our minds for days afterward, wondering if we had ma-
  

    
triculated when we said we did, or if it was all a dream we dreamed
one v-
  

    
acation on a small island where, despite many warnings, the local
mushrooms looked almost like mo-
  

    
torized bar stools, zipping across the meadow. But it turned out I had been
d-
  

    
ebuting in a travelling revue as Miss A-
  

    
labama (call me "Sweet Home" for short), and somewhere o-
  

    
ver the rainbow I lost my identity and had to screamble for a n-
  

    
embutal. Sleep! Sleep, which knitteth up the unravelled ca-
  

    
re of sleeves, that's what I say! Identity is overrated after all.
Ta-
  

    
ke mine - please! I'm no longer getting much use from it, and the go-
  

    
od advice goes that a rose by another name is as brand-ready! Hey,
th-
  

    
at's a heck of a lot of exclamation points. I guess my new meds are
causing a little too much ex-
  

    
crement to seep out, which was what they meant by "anal leakage" I
guess, but at least my acne is under co-
  

    
ver of a thick coating of cookie dough. I just can't help myself when I g-
  

    
iggle. It's a function of all the work done on my baby teeth.
Nitrous oxide was like mother's milk to me, and every new delight is
a tr-
  

    
ibulation in warm fuzzy disguise. 
    
    But, to get back to the main point, this story must be exp-
  

    
pounded, explicated, no I mean experienced like a warm summer night,
when the moon is waxing, the air is warm and still, and the mo-
  

    
notany has not yet sunk in. Where were we, anyway, when it all be-
  

    
came too much for ordinary mortals to be-
  

    
stow, all the tastes and sounds and sights of a city at midnight, or
the last steaming br-
  

    
atwurst from a trash-can grill under the Congress Street bridge on a
frosty night? Wh-
  

    
y bratwurst anyway, thought fundamentalist vegan Shabazz El-Boesky
as the folks around the grill munched away on the sausage delights. 
Finally he blurted out, "Aren't you aware of how many innocent and
frightened animals you have MURDERED so you can eat your selfishness
sandwiches?  And that fire from the grill is adding to your carbon
foo- 
  

    
tpr-
  

    
ovocation!!" Of course, he was overstating the case, being one of
thos guys that think whether you sleep, smoke, eat or fart, you are
personally responsible for de-