A Tale of False Starts
And Parabolic Possibilities

Could have been at an airport, or it could have been a dream, my memories not too great these days, admittedly it’s a  talent that I have been honing for years but in reality it never was too good. Now I remember, it was a cafe. They had cafes back then, one anyway. We had no money, still don’t, at least I don’t. It was brewer’s yeast on some kind of stodgy bread. Crepes were popular then but unless my girlfriend was working there that was beyond me. So anyway there he was, Elias, introducing himself and most likely wanting to fuck my girlfriend of the time. An artist. Post modern, abstract, bibles stolen from churches forming the background, and clothes taken from other universes and talking heads, cabaret vultures, stuff I never heard of and didn’t like and mostly still don’t. But it could have been an airport or it could have been an old man in a bus station, stranger things have happened and probably will again. Time goes for a long time, but it’s relative and things get weird on the fringes. I know, I spent most of my childhood lying awake at night figuring it out.

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