All Talk Radio

In regards to some of the City’s ordinary artistic activities, I heard it said that, “A poet without his poem is like a day without scorpions.”  (After retelling this once, one of my young cousins added, “A mime without an audience is like a disease without an ill.”)

A family moved from one locale to another, and immediately the husband began complaining because the new City, he said, “Didn’t have an ‘all talk radio station,’” and his wife countered,

“Hey, you didn’t leave your brain back home, did ya?”

Ordinary consciousness sees all things as flawed and somehow lacking, because, ole’ dears, consciousness itself is ragged and incomplete.  It’s simple as shit once you see it.  (Of course, it’s STILL simple as shit if you never see it.)

The Revolutionist, in his journeys through the internal landscape of humanity, discovers that no place is as great, OR as bad, as it is said to be.

One Revolutionist used to sometimes exclaim, “For the most direct shot, step right up to my front door.  They do, however, serve the abstract out back.”

J.