Folded Thought of the Day:


The horizon is carrying its own set of problems.  Off in the distance.  
Holding all our hopes and secrets in its haze.  Maybe it's all part of 
this global pollination I've been reading about in the papers.  

And riding out of it comes our great hero.  Laughing his way into town.  
Trailed by the thousands of cries left behind.  Right on his tail.  

Stopping at the nearest watering hole.  Window palaces of freedom.  
Trying to catch the wandering eye.  Grab a little attention.  Make 
a little noise. 

There is a point in the night when the whispers drown out the screams.  

Chalkboard memories.  School houses and short sleeves.  Bringing 
down the madman in our ritual round table discussion.  Gathering 
in a circle for the mass humiliation.  Right on schedule.  Names 
and faces that I just barely forget.  Lying down and staying down... 
until the clouds pass and the whistle blows.  Measured time.  
Intervals of our acceptance.  

Outcasts are always tardy.  And snow men will always drip on your 
finest suede shoes.  Best not to associate with this kind.  They've 
got the wrong attitude and questionable futures.  Best to stick 
with what you know.  

Settle in at the end of the cul-de-sac and set up house.  Get 
yourself an Emma Peel potato peeler from the yard sale down the 
block.  Add to that growing collection of conversation pieces.  
The sure signs of modern bliss.  Scarves and white-rimmed 
sunglasses.  Darkening eyes.


- - - - - - - - - -