Lies in (stereo)Type

(this will all make sense. i swear.)

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Splinter Life (First Draft) by Langley Windjester

I was never sober for a test. This is all I shall say on it.

When the cops pulled me over last week, they asked me questions without answers. �What is your name?� �Where do you live?� �Does the jub jub bird know how to pax romani?� [thad, did i spell that right?] They did this to irritate me. Many people act to irritate me. I am too willing a target.

In my defense, I was not of clear mind and sound body. I had earlier partook [partaken?] of a substance that shall heretofore not be mentioned. Still I am justified in insisting that the police have the respect to keep their inquiries within the realm of plausibility. Tests should not be of the impossible kind. This is a grammar school society, after all.

I have come to the conclusion that the police should not be allowed to morph into geometric shapes while they are questioning you. This is of the worst kind of disservice, and one that would seem to be better known as rude. No one is [should be?] allowed two or more faces; how would others know to which one to speak? Am I to dictate protocol [etiquette, good manners?]? Why do I need to say this? Is my hand still attached to my body, or is it forever severed from my thoughts, as I drip ink upon paper? [too many questions? i�m not sure i like the lead in at the beginning of this paragraph.]

A simple series of tests assaults us on the streets. Are we strong enough to survive on our own? When others knock us down? When we knock ourselves down? Who cares if you don�t come to lunch next week?

Myself, I should be free of such mindless [-ful? maybe] wonderings. It is an artist�s prerogative to disregard his own body, and have others assist in his survival. Our works keep their minds alive. It is a fair exchange, which keeps everyone the better. But the police are paid to make such exchanges in fair economics a hassle for all, by requiring our activities be kept simple and uniform, twisting Art into a form that can be skimmed over during the commercial break. I fear the ennui shall see me dead.

But I am an Artist, and we lie.

[thad, can you come up with a better second half? it sounds stupid and forced, but i can�t think of anything else right now. thanks, bro. � lj]

[lj, i�ll fill in my suggestions tonight, but looking over it, i get the feeling they�ll have to put a disclaimer: �Roaddawgz takes no responsibility for the opinions in articles by contributing writers, both real or fictitious.� maybe if you played up the fact you�re making this up out of thin air. i�ve got some ideas for plots you could weave in, and make it into an actual story instead of a rant by an imaginary person. we can talk tonight, or in the morning. � thad]
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(big, risky stories take too much setup.)

(ps)