I

At oh-nine hundred hours, a male, Caucasian, of indeterminate age and medium build, big mop of reddish blond curly hair, horn-rimmed glasses, wearing a pair of blue jeans, black sneakers and black t-shirt, possibly D&D, seen driving south in a 1998 cobalt blue Peugeot 106 past Amsterdam, Antwerp, Brussels, Charleroi, across the French border and finally over the N43 into Charleville in the Ardennes. Considered unarmed and dangerous.

The I’s are sick… the I’s within, and the I’s around are sick too. Bruised, green, pockmarked. Drowning in a world of preposterous poopycock prophets. Running in circles, chasing their own tails. Enough of this! No more compromise, and enough with sacrifice. Deeds are due! And so are we, the I’s of I: we be due… And we be gone. Away from the thems and out of their I’s. Call it an escape to Alcatraz if you will. Curtains… open! Firework, kettledrums… light!