Okay, here we go again....Yeah, see it's really about vivisection of the soul in many ways or dancin' around and thru the hooks in the abbatoir to get to the poker game in the basement. You know; hosin' the divine synergy; the daily, ever-morphing parade of emotions, eminent/imminent transitions, compromising positions, restitution of the retribution, conflicts of interest, consternation manifested as conflagration, ablution without solution, stupidass non-poetic platitudes substituted for discourse and clarity.

Self-aggrandizing-neo-romantic muck. Yep! The old punchinnapants, kickindateeeth, gut-wrenching, melodramatic-idiosyncratic-duo-didactic- peripatetic-pathetic-frenetic curdling of our base energies into recognition/ acceptance of the nearly-constant range of change. C'mon, stay with me here, I'm talkin' about why and when stuff sucks and the glorious salad days when it sometimes don't. Ya get whatcha pay for; ya sometimes get kicked in the ass (or worse, in the Chakras). WHEN ALL IS SAID AN' DONE, YA GET WHATCHA GET AND WHILE THE GETTIN' IS GOOD, I MIGHT ADD. And sometimes, ya just get! Ya can't always get whatcha want, but ifya try some time, ya just might find, ya get whatcha need.....Get it?

Consequently/obsequiously I/you/we sometimes catch ourselves lurching unsteadily (& uncomfortably) towards the unenviable postion of envying/ coveting what somebody else done got or bemoaning what we didn't get that we thought we was sposeta oughtta get or myriad other miscreant aberrant variants of same. Other times it's simply more a matter of noting that (eminent domain notwithstanding) our resultant discomfiture can cause psoriasis of the psyche, dandruff of the duodenum, eczema of the exogenetic endocrines, and the heartbreak of unmitigated static cling in the soul and plentiful other physiological/attitudinal dysfunctions. So, like, so what? Reality always has left a lot to the imagination in the first place...and, like somebody said, denial can indeed become a creative opportunity (if we choose to let it be so...). But, and this is the kicker, if we allow ourselves to embrace it as such, our Karmic Kalendars start to crank backwards in fits and starts instead of advancing in a more orderly and productive fashion. So what, again???

Okay, then I'll tellya what...It all comes down to a coupla fairly salient points anyway. First, we make our own beds (however slovenly/sloppily at times) and gotta lie in 'em and, second, we somtimes soil our own nests. "Criminy," I hear ya's sayin, "Krozabeeep's doin' his metaphor-minuet-muckrake dance again; doesn't the bastard ever stop?" (In a word, NO). Or, ya might be thinkin' "Geez, who pissed in his cornflakes this morning?" but that's quite beside the point anyway. What this really comes down to is merely that we get to (and, in fact, need to) be responsible fer our own stuff. Really! Noshitreally! Course, we already all know that anyway. Everything we manifest is concommitant with the choices, conscious or unconscious, we exercise to make it so. External factors provide only the impetus, WE choose how to respond, appropriately or sometimes not so. Yep!

Bruce was givin' me a huge pack o'static about this week's editorial (or "scathing downer diatribe" as he called it). I got him off my back by sayin' "Relax, pal..I'm gonna bring it 'round the bend back to artstuff. Just wait n'see..." Though dubious at best, he grudgingly relinquished the keyboard, so I guess I better at least make the effort (Damn, and just when I was onna roll...).

Okay, so here it is: Our creative energies/efforts aren't just for breakfast anymore. Nope! They're how we cope. They are the only real means we have at our limited, atrophied, postmodernist disposal to ever hope to make some sense out of what our travels entail. ("Peculiar travel plans are dancing lessons from God" according to Vonnegut's Bokonon...). Not only that, it's how we lance the boils a-festering away on our souls/psyches. Just as importantly, our creative pursuits allow us to retrieve/realign/refresh our often muddled perspectives into abject glittering pellucidity ("Wait, Lucidity! Lemme 'splain...")or at very least, give us our best shot at it. Creative process isn't merely a tool for the artists; it's the vehicle for all of us to make sense and comfort out of our admittedly seriously twisticated world. Yeah, really!

All right. That's enough for now I trust. Maybe next time I'll tellya's the story 'bout the Chihuahua and the aquarium pump. But for now, dog-speed and "gather ye rosebuds whilst ye may." Just don't forget to remember not to forget t'remember to listen to the twisted little monkey jumpin' up an' down alla freakin' time in yer medulla when he screeches 'bout takin' out da trash before the postman comes and findin' a place to stash the baby and the bathwater. B'sides, we got hearts AND heads t'facilitate juicin' the goose with. Ya know what I mean? O'course ya do!!

Later, Taters!

P.K.