It is hardly something I have tried to keep furtive. I’m a Muppetbabytarian, and the agape radiated and benign power of the headless candy-striped one inhaled, is enough for me. Like Mormons, we are plagued with a seedy history that many OUTSIDERS have clung onto long after being discarded by our baby-elders. They so, because it is all too human to remember the worse dross of traditions, the better to mock them, fleer at them from some noxious perch.
I have never understood why BabyRawlf, and the schismatic’s of the brownPiano, continue to smear our simple way of life, our sensible and perfectly divine cosmology. But I do not hold with what BabyRawlf (!) and all of his apocryphal snazzy-doo-dah mendacity. With Gonzo we love the chickens in our variety vans, communing with the beak of imagination and a liturgy that both rides the horizontal and vertical towards the after-after-life. May all of our girl babies be piggies, and the boys, froggies.
Loom Eliade Acta ba by ba by Na Na nny Tall, fundament kicked
D
We will eat the Brookshields of our past grown up skits, Waka Waka
waka waka
Everyone plays drums, for we are all animals with fuzzy baby faces and slick neologisms
suctioned cupped to uncertainty as toys left in the hair of unbelievers
These are the penultimate baby days, flying around the attic
Loom Eliade Acta ba by ba by Na Na nny Tall, fundament kicked
D
