To All,
How will it seem years from now when all that we cherish and believe will become as dusty exhibits in a museum? We are constantly finding ourselves in different states of being, between breakfast and dinner. Perhaps, even that final snack before we are carried off in a realm of terrifying heights or ages undreamed of. It is important to remember that what we see in the inner being of our own existence is but a glass of fruit punch thrown from the window of a speeding bus. Alas, there is our real dilemma - not one of flesh and bone, but of rivets and insulation.
I first felt the anger when I picked up a dictionary and, upon saying a prayer, opened it to "S". There, like a diamond bullet to the forehead, it hit me. The tragic reality that a group of squids is not called a "squad". How would I tell those I love that everything we worked for has collapsed into nothingness? With eyes closed and teeth gritted, I closed the volume of words and placed it back on the shelf. I looked up at the great painting that hung over the mantle - the painting of Cap'n Crunch ordering his men to set fire to the ship of the line - and I swore that the change we all seek would be revealed in the next life.
Devils, we may be but it is never too late to pay postage. Yes, the postage that is long overdue on such a troubled existence. You may ask yourself one day why so many choose to eat while sitting down. That is fair. Tough, but fair. But there will never come a time in the history of mankind when we will look upon anything frozen and wish for rain, not fire to thaw its icy prison.
May your tranquility be loose and ample,
Mr. Falcon
