...Not the kind of wheel you fall asleep at...


I have a large variety of notebooks/envelopes/napkins/cigarette packs strewn around my house. And in these notebooks/envelopes/napkins/cigarette packs, I've scribbled out a ridiculous variety of random facts and/or solitary lines of poetry over the years. I love to occasionally stumble across factual tidbits I'd long since forgotten about or lines of poetry that are so far removed from the present that they appear to have been sneakily written into my notebook by someone else. I think part of the reason I adore Tom Waits, Albert Goldbarth, and Chuck Palahniuk so much is that they share my fascination with the weirdnesses of the world and stuff their works and/or performances with lovely little fascinating little factoids.

Yesterday, while frustratingly trying to track down a piece of paper upon which I'd hastily scratched the final gut-clenching lines of a poem I was working on, I stumbled across some random facts I had written down perhaps a year or two ago.

My favorite, hastily scratched between a couple random lines of poetry:

The female hyena gives birth to her babies out of her clitoris.

Upon reading this, I felt an intense regret swell up inside me for not having blessed you with such important information sooner.

Mea culpa.



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