garamondyo

No! there have been no missives from the epicenter of I'm Freaking Out. There's no hunger. Only tribes. Tribes of me. I am the Chockataw Jew! I am the Lakota Mongol! I am the Furious Cree Presbyterian! I am the proud sovereign of this great hill in Silverlake. From the naked oozing methadone cafeterias of the flower district to the gleaming beacon of truth and hard ons that rises proudly above the Oklahomans in fanny packs declaring that this! This is where Kelly Clarkson blew it when she was supposed to be triumphantly ceasing to exist.

And my dreadful minions, terrifying in their silkscreened dress shirts and their altered rock tees, they drop their Found magazines and abandon their writing partners to hoist me on their shoulders and thunder down to Chinatown singing, "The Goops they lick their fingers/ The Goops they lick their knives!/ They spill their broth on the tablecloth/ They lead disgusting lives!"

Naturally I am flocked to.

Over near my closet today I gave an impromptu lecture in defense of the number three. There was such adoration in the air. It was like a gentle cupping sensation that gave such hope and desire up to the teeming closet of mostly folded jeans I swore I saw doves in spats flinging curly fries at the underpants singing acapella renditions of Paul Simon's best from the Graceland album.

Diamonds on the Souls of our Shoes!