Overthunk

You polished it, the wit, to wit You slid it again and again along every sharpening stone (criticism, disdain, judgement, unkind remarks) Virtually anything that could penetrate the marshmallow heart and poison the hot blood Could serve to make the born-blunt edge thinner, the better to slice you with You sat at the feet of the greats The funny arrows of truth, deftly nocked and swiftly released, reloaded Memorizing the melodies of cleverness, a template for First rehearsed replies, afterthoughts forged by repetition into a more and more accurate weapon, Then hardened into a versatile, agile original design, slashing deep at a moment's notice Always believing this was a method for seizing power, a coup against the lack of various stripes of privilege. And sometimes it is. A needed defense. Not often, but still too much, it's an unattended razor, wounding wantonly Cutting the unwitting, family, friends, slicing and dicing ones you love, leaving you with bleedin...

"...Fuck Pears." George Carlin is gone . I trained my comedic chops at the heels of this record (which was actually my brother's, but I played when he wasn't there to pound me). Some of its sweetly bitter sarcasm and incisive wit will remain lodged in my consciousness until I follow along into the great beyond. May cynical cherubs fly thee to thy rest, sir.