"The mind is its own place and in itself, can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven." -Come on, you know this one

"There is a town in North Ontario." I must stop reading now & listen. "My apologies, Mr. Young," the waiter says, "the artist prefers to sit with Mr. Cave." Ten O'Clock in the here and now is head-submersion time. Under water I can hear the better world. Mr. & Mrs. Dickson-Parham question the outline for the dog's pre-dinner walking procedure. "Helpless. Helpless. Helpless." What a smug bastard! A picture (black and white, of course) of his "genius grant" face printed on that cheery yellow cover over top of a you know "verdant" or something sun. I'm sure it was the publisher's decision. Indy's cat head comes into the periphery of tiles, "A supposedly fun thing i'll never do again," a green-and-bleach-white floral print shower curtain. For a minute I am in a poorly constructed wet cell with just two bars and reaching ears like fingers that mean I listen to the words "Everybody's got a room/Everybody's got a room" while air drying.