and then...there's life

of course, a thing is only dead when you call it dead. therefore, im revoking my previous comment. this blog is very much alive. As Frank Zappa says:

a moonbeam through the prune, in june,
reveals your chest.
I see your lovely beans
and in that magic go-kart, I bite your neck.
The cheese I have for you, my dear,
is real and very new.

What to make of this genius? Later on, Zappa explains that a real prune "knows no cheese" and is "taller or softer than any tree (or bush)." Zappa's manipulation reminds me of the poem, Dreamland, by edgar allan poe, which begins something like this:

by a route obscure and lonely
haunted by ill angels only
where an eidolon named Night
on a black throne reigns upright
...
from a wild weird clime that lieth sublime,
out of space--out of time.

later, Zappa tells us that "a prune isn't really a vegetable," which could be seen as an affirmation of the fact that the prune knows no cheese.