Since I blew yesterday right off the map, I’m posting this older Pearl today, as sublimation for my rudeness, er, absence. However I justify it to myself, it’s necessary for my relatively small degree of sanity to at least make an effort. Yes, it IS self-indulgent, but, it’s also self-enhancing, if only for the moment. What else, really, do we have but the NOW? I’ll get a Pearl done today, & post a fresh mess tomorrow, if all goes as planned…. Of course, we all know about “the best laid plans’ when it comes to human endeavor, I’m sure…. Just consider that your personal get-out-of-jail card, & pay no attention to whatever else you might see or hear to the contrary….
Hmm… Yes, that’s sufficiently obscure; if anyone can pull any sense out of it, they’re welcome to it. Me, I’m going to go look for some pictures to take today, in between bouts of cudgeling my subconscious to let go of the poem it’s been percolating… it’s GOT to be done by now. In any case, I’m outta here for now, & will see y’all down the road a piece.
Take care, & be strange, if not alert….
gigoid, the dubious, on the fly….
“You tell Bupkes, either he’s there at six o’clock, in full clown regalia, nose and bicycle horn included, or I’m calling the guild, and he’ll never work another Mardi Gras in this town!” Everard Cross, who consistently won the neighborhood grouch award because he believed in living up to his name, growled his threat to the wife of Bupkes the Clown into the phone, then slammed it down hard enough to bounce.
At the top of his voice, he yelled out, “Honey, get me the Guildmaster on the phone; I need to roast a clown.” Picking up his well-chewed cigar from the ashtray, he chomped down on it and chewed. while he gazed with naturally beady eyes across the desk at his next victim, er, client…. “I hate clowns…” he thought, as he gazed at yet another smiling face surrounded by red curls, and the biggest red nose he’d…
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