That editor can bite me.

Dude. The one in the head, who tries to eat newbies?

Should be killed on sight. I'm with you.

The meatspace editor who not only knows what they're doing, but who respects the work and the voice?

Anything he or she wants. Dancing girls, groupies, cocaine, chocolate, anything at all.

OK, that Editor, Station manager at KFKD. Bitch.

And then there's my crew, with the machetes and the weedwhackers. Love them.

I think we call Gus's version of an editor a superego.

The other kind does not fall into a Freudian category.

I think you're right, Nutty.

What is the Freudian category for "Mom"?

Electra notwithstanding?

I dont think that guy liked mothers, so much.

Sometimes the desire to simultaneously strangle and have sex with one's mama is just a cigar...

Me Mum smoked cigars, on occasion.

That probably explains ...

...something.

That probaly explains ...

...something.

But can you drabble it, whatever it is?

The Bi-Polarism of Personal History

This is the distinction I never wanted to make.

Here I am, broken but vital; you've gone back to clay. I'm serene in my anger, your anger is now the calm of the grave. You're nice and safe in the middle of nowhere, while I, left behind, try to find the still core of that pretty safety. Instead, I find curving paths, high hedges, eyes that watch, jungle noises. There are monsters here.

Once we were as one, or so I believed: your yang to my yin. Now I hunger in the sunlight, and you? The opposite of light.