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Dear George Carlin,

I tell myself everyday,
This entire being is mine.
Being, equal or less than
The breathing, gullible,
Mass that cuts through
Space in a matter of movement,
Or standing still.
George Carlin,
I need your advice.
Where am I going to store this being?
Should I feed it orange julius?
Braid its hair?
Should I keep its mind cluttered?
With thoughts of infatuation?
Exaggeration?
Saturation of worldly affairs?
What should I do if it enjoys exploitation?
Over-stimulation?
Being completely mindless?
Where are its boundaries?
Should it be punished
For taking the life of small creatures?
Ugly creatures?
All creatures?
What if it becomes addicted to human contact?
Oral fixation?
Prostitution?
Should I scold it for slouching?
Using poor grammar?
Not enough exercise?
George Carlin,
Please assist me with this task.
I understand you’re no longer here,
But I have been reassured that you are still writing fans
With your sage advice.
I am most grateful for any question answered.
Yours forever,
The Universe.

by hush prelude

Hush Prelude is what most people call a delayed firecracker, or to be simple, a dud. She is most likely sitting on her ass for a larger part of the day reading and writing about furniture because it is her dream to own a furniture store in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. She abandoned her dreams of becoming an autism research scientist since UCLA is too competitive, and her dyslexia allotted a GRE score equivalent to a low mortgage payment in Van Nuys, California (< 1000). She feels awkward most days, and is generous enough to share it with you.