_ Your man over there...
_ Wait a second, here. What do you mean, “ Your man over there.”?
_ It’s all you, babe; this whole menagerie, cacophony, insanity... it’s all you. Me? I’m you. Sly and the Family Stone, “ Thank you for letting me be myself.”
_ Whatever.
_ Anyway, he has the ‘Sweater by Darwin’ thing going, quite nicely, I might add, with the hair growing out of the top of his shirt.
_ Sweater by Darwin?
_ Yeah... the missing link. He could be it, bridging the gap between primate and human. Someone had too. I bet if you give him a piece of aluminum foil he’ll be quite fascinated with it.
_ Evolution hinges upon the systematic progression of life forms; a posited beginning moving ever-onward toward a finality; it’s the same shit we’ve been fed a million times over, only in reverse.
_ By disproving the theory of evolution you’ve proven it - knowledge dispelling ignorance; disillusionment.
_ Go stare at a wall.
_ I am.
_ Gruel... I want some gruel.
_ Gruel... the food of the thrice born. And then to stare wall-ward, never quite getting there... fucking fabulous. Garson! Gruel! Now! Some form of broth! Now! An unbroken vista of blankness; a wall unpainted! Now! And a piece of shiny tin foil, please.
_ Somewhere along the long line of time, of evolution, a name was plucked out of the strangeness and it is applicable to you. Some kind of hole... yes, it was some kind of hole.
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... When cancer research delves into the realm of thought, and the uncontrolled burgeoning of repetitive mind, there may be some questions raised regarding what is ‘controlled’ growth. Cancer... the name is fascinatingly frightful. My father died of cancer... he’s with me all the time.
... Joy is the uncontrolled burgeoning of a flower in bloom. Beware of doctors who shave; they haven’t come to grips with their own burgeoning chaos; or perhaps they have and just enjoy a fairly hairless situation. Whatever.
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