run run run fun dun

“I stayed overnight at this little tavern, waiting for a train. In the morning I went to the station, and set my bundle on the platform. Along came the thundering train, a glorious sight, the first train I had ever waited for. When the conductor saw my queer baggage, he cried, “Hello! What have we here?"

"Inventions for keeping time, early rising, and so forth. May I take them into the car with me? “

"You can take them where you like,” he replied, “but you had better give them to the baggage-master. If you take them into the car they will draw a crowd and might get broken.”

John Muir

Everyone wants a fan. Please give me more wind. As feeling God is accomplished in the wind, I unacceptably want to feel words as wind in Martinique or a club called the Hope in Brighton. In the Hope, sweat drips from ears to timid semi plumb talking devices. Give me a fan humanity screams giving permission for wanted ads that state, “be my fan daily”. Paris is another New Yours and New Yours is another Long Suntan and humanity is the kids in uniform looking up at Notre Dame over and over again asking where is my fan because we are yours. Ecclesiastically, I am cargo ship collecting the most beautiful accomplishments. The things that strike me are things such as these: Peruvians run every morning because they are always late to work. The English run every afternoon to a pub. Americans always run to beat grandmothers to the Metro. And we will run to stand in front of the Eiffel Tower for fifteen minutes. I don’t want to be a wall facing a fan. I want to be the air outside juxtaposing the fan remarkably sucking air from a hot room and pushing me into the sun. I admire those who don’t need fans like Leonard. Today there is a record high temperature in Long Beach. 1 hundred 11 degrees. Thank you for being green Scotland. I have collected you and put you on my cargo ship. Great Scott, it is wonderful.