Shut That Shit Up.

A note from outer-space:

In search of: a tender moment, the fleeting beast. If you are looking to invoke the furies, your strategy is aces. I don't think that this petulant chiding thing is cute, or funny. I don't think that it adds to any level of bonding because, quite simply, I can't get a straight answer in the first place. So there is no foundation upon which to stack this triteness. I have consorted with wicked women who gnash their teeth and claw at themselves until blood is shed. I have known women with mannish features, serpents growing in their hair, thick jungles of fur taking up residence in their armpits, and more to say about freedom and fear and pedagogical refinement than you would have attention span for. And I have counted them among my kinsmen! So take your scathing jocularity and throw it on that raft that makes its hourly trips to that uncharted territory within. There is no place for it here.

And the weekend contained as well two sincere compliments that cut to the core: "Your sketchbook is so beautiful," "He doesn't have the mind to match yours." Just. Remember what Mixmaster Mike would tell you: It take a second to wreck it. It takes time to build! [You gots to chill.]