a poem for today, 4 March 2012
[a letter sorted sonnet of six sentences and its image]
Religion isn't the opiate, it's the placebo of the masses.
Before the idea of movement appears the body is getting ready to move.
Without boundaries, there would be no group identity, no exclusivity, no sense of superiority, nor, more importantly, tribal behavior of which to make fun.
The object is not to completely avoid butterflies in the stomach, but to attempt to get them to temporarily fly in formation.
I'm not the bad guy here.
Every man has a price that he will willingly accept, even for what he never wished to sell.
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