zilla04

            Clay. The kind of clay that collected things over time... A lot of things. Clay that holds rocks like icebergs. Stumps so old that they didn't even grow where they now lay, preserved long ago but now encased in clay. So many twigs and branches are interspersed throughout the mass of clay it's like a nervous system. Over time the slow stream over the clay begins to erode it away... small bits of twigs float away as more and more clay is exposed. The clay slips away along the stream, bumps and slams and scrapes along and liquefies and eventually, it gets stuck... Again. To the inside of an old rusted out pipe; To the support beam of

In comedy, as in life, a moments is a moment. If you can't make sense out of a moment for what it is then a common understanding is laughter. But the act, the event, the punch line, the pain of the rake to the face or the pie; they are not for the laugh, they are for themselves. Laughter is only a product of their being - of any thing's being. Never is this more clear than with the absurd - the random. The "I don't get it, but I can't stop laughing!" You don't get it because it doesn't make sense and it's not suppose to make sense. It won't make sense to pretty much anyone you can think of, but they would probably be laughing too. Why? Becaus

A penny for your thoughts                One parcel of value for                      An idea; emotion;                              Inquiry; or conundrum.                      A bit of perception   &#