do you hear the whipperwhill?

[Horab Fibslager]

i was walking upon the path and though t back to that timein my childhood, the fifth or seventh time i cheated edath, the 37th time i got beat up by other children, the time i won the contest and got to eat all the candy i wanted, play war on a pooltable, argue with the teachers abotu eurasia's continentisisty,, get strangled at morning vy the vblonde chick, the tim ei could look into her eyes ever again. sometimes it seems, like every moment before this one here, this one now, s just some kind o fmotherufckin illusion, liek the motherfucker at the source is just like, turning on th elight switch on and off, and giving me, altering my bits of memory or th eillusion thereof. was this already written ere to this point? or did someone else write it and i find myself finishing their sentence sitting in their chair which i rememebr as being mine but really does not belong to me at all. maybe the parable of the dog doesn't strike you that way, and maybe you've forgotten the most important warning She ever gave, tomorrow in teh courtyard by th ewater fountain children throwing stones at the old leper and life is like a merry go round.