(And some days it takes more Stones than others...) Where Mythical Bestiary meets Contemporary Culture and Chews On Its Leg Until Covered with Slobber.
As a contribution to world peace, it seemed essential to pose our household wearing the tiny fez. Sophie the house rabbit, mindful of her family resemblance to the famous Oolong, struck a Byronic pose with thoughts of Greek independence, and It's the Pig resembles no one so much as the late great Major Hoople. Black cat Doc looked rakish and at ease as if relaxing with his "shooshah" or hookah on the veranda in Istanbul, and it was no surprise that Phoebe proved contrary and resentful over Lebanon and Cyprus.
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All of which raises the question: Who DOESN'T need--and look fabulous in--a tiny fez?
Greetings, my name is also Michael Fountain, and I must say that your humor and philosophy is genius. When you die, I shall steal your identity and resume your work.
Sometime in the '70s another Michael Fountain was killed in a truck accident near Allegan, and a poet friend, getting no answer on the phone, managed to dash off a memorial dirge about "the old truck, bumper sticker still flapping about the last of the whales" before she found out I was still alive.
And now this, a curious synchronicity considering I just had a conversation about Harlan Ellison's short story "Shatterday" (read at http://www.ebookmall.com/ebook/94721-ebook.htm)
in which a man calls his double on the phone-- the twist being that the "shadow" self is actually a much better person than the original, causing mixed feelings when the double starts to take over the life they both share...
Taking over my life these days would be like buying a house in the Ninth Ward without checking for flood damage.
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