#yestermorrow

"Good morning on the yestermorrow, cause now today and tomorrow I will love you with all of my heart.. that's a little truth that you are just going to have to deal with."

Van Gogh owns all the sunflowers that ever sprouted from seed and ran their juices to turn their clock faces to follow noon. Which means he owns the sun and a portion of summer

going to the movies, you stopped at the sweet shop next door for candy and popcorn, and after the show you came back to the same sweet shop for a malt or the corner drugstore for a Coke, and you lolled at those soda fountains until midnight with all your friends. For, you see, in those days there was a microscopic community in every neighborhood: the theater, the sweet shop, the drugstore fountain. Your friends? Why, they were always there! Well, that dear drugstore and its hissing fount, through economics, has vanished. The few that are left have no fountains at all. The few with fountains close at six each night. The sweet shop? That was shot dead when theaters installed their own lobby popcorn and candy stalls. So, there go two of your most important social halls. Today, 30 years later, as if by proclamation, we have all been told: Move On! So we climb in our cars. We drive . . . and drive . . . and drive . . . and come home blind with exhaustion. We have seen nothing, nor have we been seen. Our total experience? Six waved hands, a thousand blurred faces, seventeen Volkswagen rears and some ripe curses from a Porsche and an MG behind. And when we do occasionally get somewhere, the Strip, or Hollywood Boulevard, what do we find? Ten thousand other Dante's Inferno Souls, locked in immovable ice floes ahead, irritably inhaling their exhausts, unwanted by themselves and the traffic police. So the exasperated madness and the inhumanity grow.