Memories are bullets. Some whiz by and only spook you. Others tear you open and leave you in pieces.

The Negro is America's metaphor,

Dignity is nice but it’s money makes the lights and shower work.

If his drunkenness had legs, it would be Alexander the Great and conquer the known world. Then it would puke for a week into a solid gold toilet it stole from Zeus's guest room.

Being able to embrace contradictions is a sign of intelligence.
Or insanity.

The universe is a meat grinder and we're just pork in designer shoes, keeping busy so we can pretend we're not all headed for the sausage factory. Maybe I've been hallucinating this whole time and there is no Heaven and Hell. Instead of having to choose between God and the devil, maybe our only real choice comes down to link or patty?