Letter to A.

that talking to you and playing around with words

increases my tendency to think in terms of lyrics...

...I'm just saying....

...it's probably an osmotic aesthetic process....

or, it could be a truck load of empty oak barrels...

or an elephant at the zoo who's cripple, but can't complain....

Orville and Wilber were able to fly because their craft

was light enough and they had plenty of gasoline and whisky...

...same for Timothy Leary....

...I'm just say'n...

what's the difference between a crock of something and a load of something?

Well, at least a crock of something has a crock around it.....(slightly more respectable?)

...I'm just say'n...

I like those ceramic jugs of whisky...now, there's a crock of something...

when you drink from one, you know you're drinking and have no shame...

(suddenly my mind went back to 3; the earth smell in the alleys as we

walked to the candy shop)

(Now that candy sky is filled with needles)

(It only takes a song or so for the words to flow...

but when I listen to Randy Newman, I know I'm finished.)

I just realized...

(I'm just say'n)

when you left I couldn't see the world...

but now I know you're gone

everything is clear

(Not that I didn't have a mother of a time  and 

crush an ass of hampsters, drive my car into a truck,

just jump off an effing mountain...oh yeah...oh yeah...)

so, play the record backwards, bastard, and see what

I didn't forget to say....

drop me a line,

throw me a grenade,

kick out all my teeth,

then give me lemonaide

...it's all gooooooood.

(End of message)