It is midnight and thunder, a ghost walking night , time a prince asks to be it not to be. Who is there ?shouts the sentry in Elsinore.
A woman walks alone,her fear rhythms different from a male walker’s. Everyone’s fear is read into midnight , a book woman reads differently on estrogen. A man walks differently on testes and consequently the world’s violence strikes him differently .
Fat man was the second of world’s droppings.The first one was a little boy ,who was the thunder and lightning, on little men and women.
My own fat man comes into my sleep and dreams and I am caught in fear rhythms .Fat man is now caught into his airy nothing , up there ,on the happy hours of the heavenly hard rock.
Fat man drops, he being the killer of mocking birds.My God, what have we done,says the pilot.