Tuesday, December 8, 2009


"This place is filthy. The grossest office I've had to work in since I had to do all those volunteer hours in dental school. I guess the community health center is an easier place to work off a DUI, than the county jail, but dear God! The smell from the mouths of some of these hobos smells like a septic tank accident. in a pet cemetery. in July. I was standing there heroically suppressing my gag reflex, when this . . Thing appeared. It was singing the saddest song I ever heard. Singing was probably the wrong word more like vibrating, sending out a pulse of melodic depression masking the deepest tragedies the human mind can fathom. I'm too afraid to ask what it wants"

Lately, I've been gripped with stomach churning awe that quickly becomes self-loathing when I read Pim and Francie by the reclusive weirdo/genius Al Columbia. He makes me feel like an insect trying to fly to the moon. Oh, well I bet I could beat him up.