Wake up the wolf the piglet squealed. There's no one to eat us.
That is what we want. Isn't it.
That is why I built my house from straw.
To see how easily they could knock it down. How quickly I could build it again.
Some people. They think. The world is that obvious. Some people. They think. Life comes in complete sentences. Devoid of blinding metaphors. Or that they understand the sciences they cannot duplicate. Some people. They tell their children the world is theirs. The rest of us make it happen.
Polish the fangs. Clean the claws. The blood must be precise. The witch will die. As she always does. Inside her own oven. The boy will cry. Everyone will come. Because it might be true this time.
It's the perfect fairy tale she insisted. Take the poor man's axe to the belly of the wolf. Out pops a child. The curtain finally closes on that broken wizard. We courted history and it finally agreed.
There's no place like change. Our reluctant home.
Close the window. Try not to breathe. Maintain the illusion that people can change.
It's almost real. All these candy hearts we call democracy.
Tuesday
11/04/2008 02:31:00 AM
In all actuality those old fairy tales are grotesque masterpieces. I think the Brothers Grim might have indulged in vodka, LSD, and prhaps some PCP.
yea. they're good stuff. had to be drug induced.
drugs do tend to give us glimpses of things we otherwise would never have known are inside us.
sadly, it's easy to get spoiled. refuse to give up that sight.
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