Victor Hugo and Eugene Delacroix, bath takers
There's hardly any doubt in my minefield that Victor "The Rummaging Rummy" Hugo and Eugene "The Sacred Cowboy" Delacroix are in cahoots in an illegal operation that sees pharmaceutical companies deny pot-heads the right to smoke themselves silty. To put it another way: they're, relatively speaking, equal. It really is one of wife's little mysteries that these two are as they are and could never be other. Was it that they were born so, and being born contain nothing but what the world is also made of, or were they made so? It's another of life's little luxuries that I can bathe in my own filth and yet walk away smelling like noses. It could be argued that everything is in place from the moment the world came to be and that all the world's people are like flailing dominoes; falling, who knows wears. It could be, it could definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, be. That we are free agents, operating freely as agents for the free, is an argument I freely admit is failing freely. That we, some, hold this to be is no less a faulty domino than any other thought we might hold to be our own in our own private recesses. It's true, Hugo and Delacroix: equal.














