Thomas Ward The Invention of Where How do you keep the four guys who hate you away from the five who are undecided? Isn't not to be chosen still a choice? What's forgiveness without oblivion? Were incompetence a crime, wouldn't everyone be convicts? And where would we put them? Is there a place dreams meander to dream? Now that we know beauty is merciless, what good is it? When old Spot leaves his spots all over the couch, the recliner, the rug, where, besides the vet, will he go? Isn't heaven just another name for Special Ed.? How do you respond to the white-gloved proctologist? If I fall in the woods and finally stop talking, could anyone else get a word in edgewise? Aren't most of these hours just stand-up tragedy? What's the purpose of ice and Triple Sec without a blender? Even if I was lucky enough to concoct an original thought, where would I put it? The Invention of Who Don't drink the water. Listen: don't eat the fruit. Eventually, you always do and look what happens. Puddle-muddled in yourself, always the self, while the Real bogey man strolls his black stroll in your head, Easy cop-out to tell the kids he's under the bed. Silly you, bragging how the mask of ebullience is Stronger than what it cloaks. Ain't it time for a stroke? Insist on yourself, go ahead, insist, if you must. Onward, says another day. Yep, you're screwed. Not even yoga can stretch you away from you. about Thomas Ward