Do not be politically correct, for you will alienate the very essence of who you are. Stab at something controversial.  Invent more gossip.  Eat finger foods in the back of a church.  Call your congressman and woman eunuchs in the lawless land of Butter Beer.

Come on<>>>>>>>>>><><>break free of tea and toast, languid murmurings along the boulevard of broken dreams.

This day, play it dangerously.  Drive like a bat out of Angelina de Luna.  Be spirited.  Be controversial.  Invent a new alibi.  Cry because you found out you were 30% Canadian and your mom was the mailman in Toronto.

It is up to you to break free of ideology and win, win big.  Win like a landslide.  Win like a beacon in the night.  Win in another sperm/egg fight as you did before you were born.

Why?  Because you don’t want to be a double/double loser.  Because you can.  Because it is there.  Because what the hell are you doing alive anyway?  Playing it safe?  Cringing along the fringes?  Staying dry in a thunderstorm?

Ok, here’s the scoop: You are alive. You are experience supreme wonder in a momentary madness format; and the rest of the world is quaking in their boots.  So?

Sew your wild oats at the age of 70.  Grab hold of the next staircase into the heavens.  Play around with plutonium.  Call out those too afraid to blow out the competition.  Invent a new deal. Play chicken in a back alley with large and fast automobiles.

Hell, have a cussing contest with 7 and 8 year olds in the back of a limousine at your great aunt’s funeral.  Ok, yes, I admit I did this in Pueblo, Colorado, on a long spring day, where the Cottonwoods climbed high into the sky in a cemetery filled with a ton of shot-up Italians from the 1950s.

It is now time to be crazy, as unpredictable as a hurricane in open waters, as wild as a human with a painted vision lost in a kaleidoscope, as true to yourself as Gandhi was when he became celibate behind closed doors, they say, on his way to his next family reunion.

Come on man, get out of your way, and sail into the sunset.  Crawl into something more comfortable like this real expanding universe.  “Get thy self to a nunnery.” What the hell is a nunnery anyway?  Hey, ask Shakespeare, it was his quote.

Now that we cleared this up, do something really out of context, out of the ordinary, and smile all the while as the myopics and starched faces look on in utter (should we really use this cliché) amazement?

Be a rebel.  Sell yourself long.  It is now time to roam around the rest of your enchanted life.