The Great Wake 45: A Morning Dash

Flash it like a morning dash, a window jump, a rude awakening.  The scoundrels usually show their ass, eventually.  The lowest form of human, a slave to themselves.  Preserving their dignity like squirrels hide nuts.  In dark holes.

Scrutiny will be avoided, it will point back.  Like a defeated zombie.  There is nothing more for them to say, exposed and shamed by rational thought, which is free thought.  Untouched thought.  Unaltered.

The screams, the squirms, the slips, the slanders, they are all expected.  The unexpected will be wilder, more elaborate than can be imagined or invented.  Take no color side, no blues, no reds, the edges cut like broken glass.  Gonzo it out.  Think.