The dawn of creation meets the god of gentility. A marriage made on the dancefloor. These are why the other things heretofore mentioned remain essentially clutter on the table-settings of temerity. Masks of various balls, excluding the policemen's and Capote's Black and White, are strewn on the coffee table depicting expired circumstances within our control. Nebbuchadnezar 's dream had a gold head but feet of clay, mine has everlasting in the space labeled Life. Actually, mine has elevators which would prompt the wise men to say I have a thing for Otis. O Canada, we stand on cars and freeze. A gathering of 100k omits the two of us so we can picture the 250k miles from here to the moon. It's not necessary but I like the odds of eventually getting it (not there). It was two days short of sixty years ago that my claim to this place was steak and a knife, stayin' alive. So the critical point is not the shitiness of the the imagereadies, we will unlock the frozen software. The point is there will still be a message for mankind or my name's not Mr. Blew.