Monday, 1 October 2007

When will I become as a swallow, so I will stop being silent?

yes-of-course

7 comments:

Prozacville said...

"Dear Prozacville, why from such a beautiful and hopeful poem did you choose a fleeting sentiment from the final stanza expressing this woeful self-interrogation and examination?

My interpretation for this is that you deliberately seek the cloud, even when you find it so often obscured by silver linings.

Re-gods"

The big question is: once I have internalised the therapist will I be able to stop paying him for his services?

Forever Young said...

yuk i hate garibaldis, even the name.....
who is 'she'?

baggelboy said...

Digestives used to be made with beef fat.

Ellis Nadler said...

A bloke I once knew who worked on the biscuit assembly lines at Ian Huntley & Arnold Palmer's factory in Reading told me that those ain't raisins in them Garibaldis...they're squashed flies

the therapist said...

Very fine. And yet of course, in turn, the clouds will seek you.

In passing, I would note that Prozac has been charged no monies for his course of therapy.

Prozacville said...

Noted.

Thank you.

Prozacville said...

Get with the programme Ma.

'She' is the kid who was killed for a chocolate bar in an earlier panel of Prozacville.

You do realise that it's all 'related' yeah, that there's a kind of continuous narrative going on here, yeah?

Like Peanuts. Just with more swearing.