Monday, April 11, 2005

In the Soup

Death in a dark city. Murders black and bleak. We wrestle with ourselves as Jacob wrestled with the Angel—and our inner child is Cain, striking down every good brother within and without. God plays favorites. Then abandons us to our own.

‘Course, sometimes LA is just about a vegetable-crazy guy named Trinidad what took his rifle wading into the brack of Lincoln Park lake. Was his offering to be accepted as Abel’s? Or was he just itching to glaze the fowl bastard in honey and lavender, to feel the essence of something once-sentient poured down his throat in the form of pan juices?

We shall not know. Those in the throes of Vegetable Frenzy are beyond comprehension.

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