| P.S. Some of you seem to have been under the impression that the last issue experienced some technical difficulties. To you I say this: Believe nothing. Not even your own eyes. And especially not Susurrus. If you thought the last issue had technical difficulties, I urge you to look closer. Don't just look, but read. P.P.S. I deliberately didn't mention Sheos in this letter. He gets too much attention as it is. P.P.P.S.
Parlez-vous français? Sincerely, One of my first jobs, before I started working at a facility for mental health and publishing insane ramblings for the perusal of the world, was at a department store. One of my clearest memories from that job is of my boss, hanging clothes on a rack at the front of the store, just before Independence Day. He was complaining about shoplifters. He had found tell-tale empty packages of make-up and razors, the cardboard packaging crudely and hurriedly torn. And plastic cases that are supposed to make CDs difficult to steal. They were blackened, because the successful thief had melted them with a cigarette lighter to get the CDs. My boss was putting t-shirts with pictures of American flags and bald eagles and "God Bless America", lecturing about the evils of stealing, and the importance of supporting the company for whom you work, and I wondered if maybe I was supposed to salute or put my hand over my heart. I continued to slouch. I didn't last very long in the retail world. And now that I work in a mental facility, I hear my former boss's mania in the proud speeches of Lisette Alonso, who continues to implore us to release the wildlife that she is convinced we keep in our basement, as she lectures us on animal rights and the imperative to love animals. Make that love animals. She seems to have found a friend in one Tamara Sheehan, who also seems to be an animal lover. If she weren't living in a padded room, she'd probably live alone and get her groceries delivered and have sixty or seventy cats going in and out of her house. I suspect them both of vegetarianism, and I'm trying to convince the doctors that it's a treatable disease.
Am I kidding?
I wonder whether Lisette and Tamara are better or worse off than the incoherent ramblings of Trent Zalazny. I suspect he did too much LSD and is now paying the penalty. (How much LSD is too much? you might ask. I suppose I would have to answer that the amount that makes you as delusional as Trent is definitely too much. Beyond that, I could only shrug and mumble under my breath. Though perhaps the question's moot, because those of us without LSD are probably also delusional.) Not to get philosophical, but perhaps LSD doesn't even exist. And I suppose the important question is, who's happier? As usual, I digress. I must also mention Marsheila Rockwell. She seems to be calm and sane, but she has the slow, insidious type of mental disease that shows how precariously perched one can be on the line that separates normal insanity from danger-to-herself-or-others insanity. "Four meals away from anarchy" and all of that. You can trust the ones that have the danger-to-him-or-herself-or-others insanity. They're reliable. That's why I work in a mental institution instead of a department store. Finally, I must speak briefly about the artwork in this issue. Every photograph was compiled from a royalty-free or public domain collection. There is a mass of fantastic photography and artwork that has been dedicated to free use, whether it is public domain, royalty-free, or copyleft. See the credits to find some great links to images dedicated thus (make sure you read the fine print, some of them have conditions). I hope you enjoy the new issue. Let me know what you think. I am fine. How are you? Dear Reader, Rev. Brian Worley ___________________________________________________________ |