You’ve all seen the photographs—my grandfather being swallowed by a whale as he swam off the coast of Nearly Certain, only to emerge three days later with a baby, a bird’s nest and several copies of Whitman’s, Leaves of Grass.
My grandfather was a self-made man who hatched from the egg of that rare species of bird, Delusions of Grandeur. These birds are never seen in this part of the universe anymore. [Note: Da Vinci has some beautiful sketches of these illustrious creatures in his little known book, I See What I Draw Doesn’t Amuse You Anymore]
[Question] Why must all of our life-lessons come from near-death experiences?
He grew-up among princes, danced before Napoleon (about 100 years before Napoleon) and studied the art of silence with Marcel Marceau. In feat of cunning and daring he rescued my grandmother from the circus strongman. To escape they had to cross over the high wire and eventually were shot out of the cannon and landed in the next town. They never spent another day apart from one another.
[For their honeymoon they walked to Hell and back]