can picture them now. "Creative is." A collection of
anecdotes passing between them. A collusion to achieve a harmony of
deceit. A flurry in now that requires a solution.
Here I am unfortunately arrogant. Otherwise I would be happily
craven in grasping this moment. Otherwise, I too would like things
to be about me, which runs contrary to all I have been shown. And in
me the spirit appears still angry. It remains "Yes" or
"No". And it does this, I like to think, because I am
tired of failing at deceit.
Beginning to think I should allow an
oration that reaches for real. But that would be crass, it would lack
sensibility, and one day when I am hungry again I will look at my
contribution to the history of "What not to do at funerals" and
ask myself, "Why did I waste so much?"
"Baa-Baa black sheep, have you any
wool. Yes Sir! Yes sir! Three bags full!"
Alternatively I could be truly dull and
say, "Allow her to follow the lead bull into the night, so her star can
join that firmament of life, where perils are few and the future is