The Jaded Dog

_ I have a bad case of the 'Ooo la-la's' today.
_ I know a lady who has no soul. She is held together by the synergistic glue produced when random thought processes are combined with copious amounts of alcohol. She lives on Hariboo's Egg Farm and is a very happy woman.
_ With thusness leading to such suchness, I find it necessary to drink my chai before I wake, whilst the Lord is deciding if my soul is ripe for the plucking.
_ You speak Spanish?
_ My dog speaks Japanese while humping the leg of the jade Buddha. He shits rice cakes; a raft in the swollen river.
_ Of course he does. He understands the ceremony.
_ Ooo la-la.

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     ... Digression is an impossibility when one is firmly situated within the unity in which all things are possible. When such is not the case we live forever in digression.

     ... I'm going to break you into the 'Walrus Factor' very gently. The basic premise is that everybody's fucked up. The rest orbits around the artist's shattering of form via form, with the result being the wide-eyed smile at the broken pieces of what was. It - shit - just happened, and the lack of an echo means it was either duck-like, or it never really happened. What I mean is: The past... is the memory of it, it? If not, what is the past? More on this later.

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