I wake at night knowing my life is turtles all the way down. A knock-knock joke, a poem, and your bankruptcy walk into a bar. I hum Neil Young songs to myself all night Saturday and wish, just wish, some drunk alderman would try and tip me over. Outside of you is nothing but objects. We moved to the beach to get away from everything that wasn't the beach. By then our father was a hollow reed. If you held him up to your ear, there was the sea's weak plea for help. What is incomprehensible about the world is that we comprehend it. If you're in a cornfield, something bad is going to happen to you. Prosperity favors the prudent and tidy farmer but make sure you use sunblock. Language is a blunt instrument.
-All text by Michael Gushue from Pachinko Mouth