I’m reading a fictional (sea adventure) novel wherein a colossal and many-tentacled

conglomerate of a big bigger biggest dollar shadowy single entity corporo-devistation

organization WILL, beyond the gloom of your most egregious doubt, GET everything

it’s big tomatoes say it will, by hook or by apparent suicide or quick-fix terminal blood

disease, …yikes; & there’s nada, short of Superman, who’s gona do anything to stop it. 

If art, on this happenin blue marble of the forgotten sods, imitates life ~ even remotely ~

then, no doubt you have your six chips on the pass line and she’s a comin out Hillary. 

So tonight we’re gona party like it’s ….awe, fuckit… twenty-twelve………..