Tuesday, July 22, 2008

my soul is a tiny fetus playing musical chairs alone at night.

Sunday, July 20, 2008

The musical fetus is the most sensitive of all creatures. Embracing him within your palms is much like handling a poached egg. One must be cautious not to break the yolk, for if he does, all life’s magic will pour out from the tiny thing’s mouth, like water from a collapsing damn. And if this ever were the story, man will crumble. He will suspect mortality and sadly, unfetter his faith into a ditch.

But what he will fail to recognize is that inside the ditch, there are crocodiles.