Friends.

At the stroke of Midnight (more or less) under a full moon (more or less) The Red Demon breathed what might just be its last breath at the mouth of the 110 freeway in Pasadena, California, USA.

I offer up this epitaph, which was one of the first bits of prose ever to grace the Genitals site, back in the Borrego Days of Yesteryear.

It fared with her as with the storm-tossed ship, that miserably drives along the leeward land.

Know ye, now, the Red Demon?

Glimpses do ye seem to see fo that mortally intolerable truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea; while the wildest winds of heaven and earth conspire to cast her on the treacherous, slavish shore?

But as in landlessness alone resides the highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God -- so, better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be gloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety!

For worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land! Terrors of the terrible! Is all this agony so vain?

Take heart, take heart, O Demon! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the spray fo thy ocean-perishing -- straight up, leaps thy apotheosis.

The land seemed scorching to its feet; Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable, deep memories yield no epitaphs .

Aye me....

So it goes, the cycle of life, the inspiration and expiration and life and death of it all.

Shall I repair her?

Would it be nothing more than sentimental foolishness to hang on?

As I said before, and I'm sure to say again:

I've been know

to hold on

to the bones

long after

the meat

has gone.