To Those Who Live in Mortal Consternation Over the Werewolves of Manassas.

 Twas the breast of times; twas the cheddarwurst of times.  Twas an age of folly; twas an age of great aboundment.  Hath a man a nod for a desultory Howell Kirvonnen of a man, a Darnell Spurtelfoot, or some such, a man inclined to take to the big bowl; visitors, the regulars that is, know well, its one get, a great big little gay produce box.

Temptations sing!

Enlightenment twas not reason proved, but a reproval of all things in that pursuit, a kind of creekbank wasting of man's better efforts, where in his mind might be his better efforts, and not on the flap of his pajamas, or the media sociale, the public intercourse, the concourse, the discourse, and the thoroughfare: throughput, I mean, sedentary dissipation, a kind of evaporation and condensation in the form of ideas, gelled-stagnant old derriguotype of what passes for the collegiate, board-approved reason, that filtered through and flattered, tweeted by third-tier Democrats, such to grope but never find, fly and fly and never land on two feet or three wheelstands.

There was Juniper tea and some kind of piecemeal funeral spray.

As they say, beheld through a glass darkly, a shadow self, representing opposing subconscious forces, and the actual shadow of the person holding the looking glass, is a kind of indefinite in its diffusion chromatic transposition of the person, a shape, as it were, holding a square thing.

I remember old schoolmate Chris got a Bobby Brown kind of haircut, when both were in fashion, Chris and Bobby Brown, both, that is, and I said it was a dead fish on his head, the clump of the stuff, the kind of Brillo of it, and the shape of it malforming, and Chris only gone out of fashion because he met an early end, one of those unexplained publicly, glossed over, it did bleed, as it were, but it did not lead.  We had one of those one time, a nice little "this person has a family" kind of thing, embarrassing private individuals, as it were, and it was fortunate for us the newscaster was literally the news director and the writer of the copy and the voice talent on the microphone; he was spoken to on the phone by near familiars of the offender, the subject, that is.

It's a sort of discretion afforded to private individuals, you know, and not like marriage stuff in a trial livestreamed to the public.

I had a pain in my nuts where the short hairs meet the inner leg; my shoes were hidden in a ditch.  I consulted a witch who had consulted a crystal ball, a spellbook, and a transient warlock.  My family?  In denial, and finally, they let it go.