I was trying to remember where all the trouble started, when I fell upon an old sketchbook in depths of a storage room and I thought about the word storage and how it sounded like a store for all your rage and I went shopping in for that Id all hid in that little book full of seed shaped drawings I did in Hawaii when I thought I was going to die from some unknown, inexplicable sorrow.
Something about all the palm trees and the guava juice and the mai tais and the true love drove me mad. I kept wondering when my luck was going to run out, because I knew it would and because I knew it would, or feared it would; baby it did… like the other shoe dropping hard in Eden with all that fruit and me wailing in the sunset beside the humming birds of paradise where my tears turned to pillars of salt as I look back in anger.
