I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Tuesday, December 6, 2005

Everything but the “Oink!”

It’s said (and it is very true) that we process everything from a pig except the “Oink.” Well, there has to be some value in the oink, and someway to capture it. How would you do that (bottle, distill, cardboard box, blister pack) and what would you sell it for (both remuneration and destination)?
Mind dumped by at

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