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2002-09-11 || 11:47 a.m. || kindness to animals || there's a birthmark the shape of texas on the belly of harvey armadillo that allows him to see into the future. each night under a sky blacker than lousiana sewer tunnels and prairie dog dens harvey traces the imprint of his fair state with one dusty claw and looks to the stars for any celestial messages. a star falls and harvey answers with a hollow knock on his belly armor. another star shoots west and harvey knocks again. with patience and a sweet baritone humming only the cactus can hear, harvey watches more and more stars drop from the sky to form a great flashy sequined curtain of white texas light, all the while drumming with such skill and rhythm the turtles recede into their shells in humiliated tone-deaf shame. (hold on. still not done.) but look here! guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |