The rocks in your head break free and tumble towards the valley. Gold foil print of a little bat-monkey is made to commemorate the occasion. When the bat-monkey speaks, it screams like headlines from the New York Post.
Still more rocks tumble. Bedrock is breaking up…basketballs of debris, bits of faces from idols carved in the granite, noses and shocked mouths, bat ears, bouncy balls. An unsorted mess.
Laughter in the valley. It is the laughter of the bat-monkey. The sparse and scattered hairs along this arid land stand on end. President Gerald Ford is falling down the stairs forever. Comedy can be cruel. One little slip-up and it’s set in stone. Tumbling, tumbling down…