You're The Guy I Want To Share My Money With

      One of the only things that keeps me alive anymore is listening to KZSC radio on my radio when I lie down in bed at night and pretend I'm asleep. The other night-- at the climax of the most dangerous day for me in one of the hardest, craziest, most beautiful and desperate weeks I've ever had in this or any of my previous lifetimes-- I forced myself to listen to a show called Savage Bistro on KZSC even though the menu typically makes me so uncomfortable that it forces me to the conclusion that the entire show was made only focused with me as the listener and I don't get support from the universe when I feel that way and it can even get me killed sometimes (Blogger, please don't censor this because I'm a change agent and I need to do my work.) But I had been talking to faith healers on a call-in program earlier on the same station and I knew I needed to not shrink from that precipice For The Good Of Me And The Universe. Anyway, I want to do a paragraph change even though Strunk & White would censure me.
      The dj played an album he said is called "You're The Guy I Want To Share My Money With" and he sounded very precise and almost medical when he said on air the name of the album before hand. It becomes clear to me in my state of consciousness heightened by all the horror I've seen lately that it is really important and deliberate that Laurie Andersen and William S. Burroughs and another poet on the album utilize such a powerful universal blessing in plain language as the title of their album and the dj said it again after it was over, because the album is only comprised of content so morally painful to listen to for anyone that you can't help but wonder if they're trying to kill you with words. and all of the sounds on the album are only words.