The Passing Parade

Equanimity is like that— great for day by day. Triceratops comes out to play among the smilers, scoffing at his claimed reality; the screams are left there, hanging for a time, when creativity refuses to be stuffed back in the box. The poor old fellow, horns and all, will not be taken seriously, no matter how he mugs before the camera; believers yawn until the soldiers join the march behind the flags and pretty girls with pretty legs--and then the band! Our ugly, born again, intrepid hero with his plated armor never had a chance; it is his destiny to be unloved and munch his vegetables, and sink into the pit that feeds the armed machine far past the Pleistocene that hovers there above his dream. ~