Abusement Park

Help me. I am in Phoenixville, PA, and I'm afraid either the outer world does not exist any more or this is all some elaborate Truman Show: there's a state fair down the street and the NASCAR crowd is everywhere and there's fried dough, ahem "funnel cake," wafting through the air, wiggers with pubescent caterpillar moustaches and their shirts off smoking Marb lights and clutching their Avril Lavigne-eyed underage girlfriends who scream and then puke from the rides and a weird house of mirrors from Lady from Shanghai and a carousel from Strangers on a Train and the bottle toss with prizes like a Def Leppard mirror (they STILL exist) or Betty Booop in leather on a motorcycle and a over there I see a clown over the water tank taunting the macho men who can't pitch the ball to pitch him in the drink and the lifer carneys who are sick and tired of you and everyone else and want to pull the lever a little too soon and the petting zoo with the sign "Dairy Cows" as if they're special and somehow bringing you closer to nature here on this abandoned lot made suddenly into a freak show that is not like the freak shows of old but some mutation of a parking lot-mall-deepfry vat-culture and I'm thinking where are the bearded ladies and hermaphrodites but who cares because this will be hilarious later on but right now I'm in hell and can only retreat 'home' back to this bizarre gated community of condos that seem idyllic and identical and crime-free but reports of a man with a whip terrorizing children at night have put the neighborhood watch staff on alert and caused the formation of a pre-teen gang called the Night Elves who carry authentic mail-order Lord of the Rings swords and arrows while they rove around at night shooting at and stabbing the first thing that moves and oh god this is all true so help me god i think i hear something at the window is that the sound of a bow string drawing back or a wip about to crack

Small World

Just finished watching Campion's biopic of the reclusive, shy, and nervous New Zealand ginger author, Janet Frame: An Angel at My Table. I had seen bits of this film in 1989 and had been fascinated by Frame's horrifying stay at a mental ward where JUST as they were about to give her a lobotomy won a literary award and was freed. I couldn't deal with this movie and avoided it for years because I knew it would be painful to watch. At UMass I wrote my honor's thesis on a closed down mental institution--but fictionalized it, and had Frame in mind (also Robert Pirsig). Then, a few years later I wrote my M.A. with a chapter on John Money, the doctor who coined "gender identity." Just wikipediaed Frame and found out Money and Frame were friends.

Chuck & Buck & Larry

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The Master Plan

I have suddenly realized that my true calling in life is to POPULATE THE WORLD WITH GINGER KIDS!!!
You see, there are too many people in the world, but not enough of us Redheads. The prejudice is weighty.












So what choice do I have but to convince a ginger girl to ENGAGE EMERGENCY REPRODUCTION SEQUENCE. This is possible in times of stress. At least one member of the species must be as short-haired on her head as she is Lilith-long-haired on her legs and the other must possess a firecrotch whose hue is no less bright than twenty-three cetifibes. A ginger root is dug up and then becomes a sort of "third party" in the mating process.














DO NOT ATTEMPT TO STOP US.







The world will soon be a better place for us--and you, if you behave accordingly.









HAVE A NICE DAY!






Laaaaaaaa La.
La La La.