What an odd duck. Reading his mead is like drowning in sweet annoyance. His criticism, self-westernizing reference to Greek heroes; I know but don't care as much as my sister, My look-a-like; Die Zwilinge. Who am I to question the genius. A genius of his craft, but blind in sanity. Who am I to question us, Deaf to the genius of our own Muse-ick.
It is just us three: #, Brel and me. Trois Faisans, # 6 ft under self, Master Brel sings still of Les Bourgeois, and me toolin around still JoJo.