I earn my living. I can fix anything, build anything. I built this entire house out of scraps, from the ground up. People out there do it for money, their fucking leather couches, pop tarts and instant coffee. Not me. I work for the Cosmos. I listen to it, and then I go in motion, just like the planets. My Grandfather was a half Shawnee Indian, a god damn sullen misanthrope most his life, but occasionally wise. He used to tell me that if we silenced our mind enough we could hear the dead whisper prayers to the living. He said those prayers are the secrets to the Universe, how we evolve, or used to, at least. Now most people ignore our ancestor's invocations. We are in situation where we might be going the other way, de-evolving. Not me, I listen to the secret incantations of the dead. I see the connections. I look at my asshole and know its a twinkling star. Someday I will be a Cosmic King. Most of humanity will be piled in landfills. I will be a Bird Spirit soaring high in the magic ether.


Tim Flagg
Sam Pink