Mustn't give in to hate in the morning. Must be acceptance in the
morning. Must not calculate diabologicals in the morning. I have
certain kneejerk hates but I must simply leave them by the side of the
road. My blood on the side of the road. My bile on the side of the
road. Chuck my bile down the slope of the defile. I intend to accept
all this literary stuff because these are my tribesmen. We have all
done callow poetry and will all continue to do callow poetry. Callow
poetry, like shit, happens. We all go through all our stages and the
world is better, not worse. We all tried, and trying even a little
oughtn't to earn you censure. Trying even a little is an act of extreme
good that creates one million universes full of tiny aliens singing
applause to the stars and the unknown gods beyond.

It's up to you what it means, what its use is, and how you'll move on
from it. Any alien input simply tends to pull you from your pimply
course, like a satellite encountering the gravity of a massive object.
If there are people in your life which are massive gravitic objects to
you, and they exert even a little pressure, you're going to spin out of
control. Learn to chart your own course through the cosmos and steer
clear of alien atmospheres and the terrible fire of reentry within.

A certain type of universe is produced by teenage poetry. The aliens
have a high culture, arts, technology, recycling, clean solar,
windpower, and an extremely developed shamanic hunter-gatherer culture.
The land itself is smooth and bulbous, with lots of little folds that
look like the underside of a generous breast. The shamans regale the
tribe around the morning campfire with accounts of visions of red
embarrassed faces, jealous denials, and the infidelity of a boy named