The Body

I was 8 going on 9 the first time I saw a dead human being. It happened in the summer of 1984—a long time ago, but only if you measure in terms of years. I was living in a small community in Brooklyn called Starrett City; there were only fourteen thousand people, but to me it was the whole world.

... okay, all of that is true except for the dead body bit.

God, how I feast upon the carcass of nostalgia. I guess there's a writerly tradition of it. A romanticized recollection of some patch of time and place that's long gone.

It's the most fertile place to go to. Before everything got so fucking jaded, there's not much left to love.

Well, fuck... is May dead already? Where the does it all go?

I realize that most of you regular lurkers can't be bothered to check out the Butcherhouse Blog. FWIW, I've been trying to update it more regularly—small updates—so that the hoople-heads who look me up might go THERE instead of HERE.

That said, you might want to visit that Butcherhouse Blog today so I don't have to double-post the news.

My team seems to be growing every day.

Who will stop us?

YOU?

We'll fucking KILL you. You hear me, fucko? We will mow you down.

What's it going to be then, eh?

Will you join in our crusade?

Somewhere beyond the barricade, is there a world you long to see...??

xxx
Speaking of dead bodies...

Harvey Korman has a posse.

For the wretched of the earth
There is a flame that never dies.
Even the darkest night will end
And the sun will rise.