Sometimes it feels as though I am on the dark side of the nut. What with all that I do for love, with my hapless version of my story that I have been sent to tell, with my being upside-down, do you even develop my picture? My utterly blank snapshot of the dark side of the nut.
I am running on the loosely spherical rotating nut – but I think maybe I am going the wrong way. Hey, maybe I am upside down and back to front. That would be delicious! Why cant there be light on this side of the nut? Is it a black hole nut?
Sometimes it seems that my concepts escape the gravity of the blackhole nut – but they just dissipate into the entropic ether of the light side of the nut, the uptown nut, the Vegas nut, the glam-rock tickety-tock hot rock nut.
I could say that I feel like I belong on this dark side of the nut. It protects me from the hate, from the bubbling, gleeful gobble-gobble of the shiny side, the vinyl side, the unbridled side of the nut. The evil out there is distressing to such a brittle bubble blowing about in the perpetual nighty-night of an utter, abject lack of light.
So I will stay, and ponder, for a moment further, my condition, here alone, nude, grooved, on this shady, somewhat lazy, dark side, of the nut.