It is not a joke, and yet talking heads speak with talking hands, with new books and boxes of news. The reader dear reader is protesting for a good nights sleeps as words and images with messages make fury about nothing.

Can I make a better world today? Lord I try, but the world seems like a slug that is both drunk and stoned.

I have no lips, but I must kiss.

Not the wiskey, something better.

Like a pattern of faded colors on clothes, like blue tint from the sun light, and lakes that seem to shink, as a man thinks, war turns the second hand, for the third time, and on the forth a bell tolls.

We yearn for different islands, yet together in a palm tree we live like flightless birds that can not sing!