[Jesus had a buzzcut.]
Garland is the executioner's tribute to capitalism under the spell of seasonal sentiment. He soaks in gasoline at night. He chews every word and then spits it out. Nutrition hardly a concern. So I try, in my way, to stuff him full of vitamins but every keystroke is a beheaded peacock. He's stubborn and I'm religious. Doggedly, stupidly, elbows-out insightlessly religious, to the ends I find most frightening, the banana split ends that even a brainless god would avoid. A brainless god has brains enough to count his scruples, guard them, fervor foaming about his fangs. Those toothy danglings. Dastardly things inducing indigestion leading me by my noose to the river where I see the wrong reflection and rip out more of my hair. It would seem that I am crazy but I am only obeying a command. Implicating is so much easier than swinging the bat at the appropriate second.