I’m a very minor prophet with astigmatic eyes and a weakness for the female form. I’ve a few critics who find this vulgar but I’ve read where God hath chosen the foolish things of this world (of which I am chief) to confound the wise. So yes, I press on. This evening’s prophecy is this, actually its more of a plea: Don’t disappear from the earth, you know, fly the coop. That would just disappoint everyone. Hang in there. Don’t let go. That’s what God said when Jesus hung by his threads on the tree. Don’t try and hang on to the dark, its much too boisterous for any of us to pronounce. Hang on to the night, the night itself, or perhaps herself. Snyder once said we’re all flowers for the void. Okay, Gary, maybe so, but we’re still flowers. Bloom where you’re crucified.