The desert strips everything bare. Neither personality, nor perception, nor the body itself can hide from the piercing eye of the elements. Flesh and artifice melt under the heat of the Evil Day Star and the persistent, scouring alkali sand. We become what we are, and though that may bring to light certain heretofore unacknowledged undesirable elements, sometimes our true appearance comes as no shock at all.
I subscribe to Open Source Anarchy: "The comedy turns to violence much more quickly than the hate." I wish I could take credit for that glorious description, since it articulates a type of friendship I've found difficult to explain in any coherent manner. I dance on the edge of the knife and don't particularly fear being cut. I suppose I deliberately bait predators because unlike the majority of (sane) humanity, I'm not real scared of getting punched in the face. If I don't bait them, who ever will? We all need laughter in our darkest moments.
I've more to say but exhaustion is outpacing me.
Be Seeing You.
