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October 30, 2001 syncopation I have been accused of using creative license.  This is untrue.  I do not have a Creative License.  I went down to the Creative License Bureau (strangely, a division of the Department of Motor Vehicles) with the intention of obtaining such a license.  I took a number and waited for my name to be called.  The process was slow and made all the more tedious by Louisiana's affirmative action program which mandates hiring bureaucrats with substantial closed-head injuries.  When my number was finally called and I walked to the window, it closed.  I was told to return after their two-hour lunch break at which time I could help myself to a brand new number.  I used up some of my creative juices by composing, on the spot, a limerick that included both "bureaucrat" and "brain-damaged broke-dick."  Oh, and "butt plug." I occasionally share with Schroedinger's Cat the notion that I am both dead and alive.  Simultaneously.  But I grocery shop, do laundry and take care of wild animals just like the people I see who are alive only.  I even carved a pumpkin while sitting in the sunshine listening to Little Feat.  One should carve to a syncopated beat. I am moving forward, I think. And I understand that, to make a jack-o-lantern, you have to kill a pumpkin.

©  2001 by the beastmaster