We are off, or will be soon.
The boys have decided to get out of the city. I have decided to depart the country for even greater country. We will throw our stuff into a truck, drive furiously at breakneck speeds due North and then double the distance South, only to set off fireworks in the forest around or after midnight. I will be bringing my backpack from the two recent Dead shows, so who knows what mischievousness we'll find in there.
I know.
It's not the mischief that you might guess, or hope for, it's only a few loose well-thumbed pamphlets on anarchism and a picture of Emma Goldman framed in golden tinsel, just in case we become aroused at the curiosities of nature; the siting of a beaver, a wayward platypus.
It's not the mischief that you might guess, or hope for, it's only a few loose well-thumbed pamphlets on anarchism and a picture of Emma Goldman framed in golden tinsel, just in case we become aroused at the curiosities of nature; the siting of a beaver, a wayward platypus.
Or, the fresh sting of beaver and a face of wayful plat-a-puss.
Only yesterday I mentioned wanting some new adventures in life.
So, be careful what you witch for.
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