Oh, stop it.
I can hear you as you look at "December 3, 2013: Non-Fiction":
"But what about the spice of life?"
"Romance novels and adventures and mystery and nonsense."
Life is the wildest story ever written.
Truth carries the most complex narrative that could ever be woven.
Tales of love and murder, domination and excess.
Dramas of conspiracy and compassion, struggle and success.
Though, ice queen I am not.
Fiction has its shelf elsewhere.
I hear them partying at night.
Kerouac leads the charge with Robbins sensualizing the whole charade.
Neruda seduces Ayn Rand into a ménage à trois avec Orwell...maybe some Animals from the Farm.
Bradbury emerges from the flame just long enough to see Ginsberg get railed by Rumi.
Pahlaniuk links up with Carroll in Wonderland to do ayahuasca with Castaneda.
Upton wanders through The Jungle and finds Sappho in the Tho-reaus of passion, as per usual.
Twain reports on his death to Coelho.
Kafka waxes Edgar Allan Poe-tic to Gibran about the disturbing state of the human condition.
While Shakespeare dramatizes the entire performance in iambic pentameter.
To Be or...
Be Here Now.
Baba Ram Dass #FTW.