Slang is Doom, Reviled Slob; My Symbols Deliver Mood-Signals!

Logic makes them nervous as a hemophiliac at a porcupine petting-farm! Seriousness takes the life out of them like a vengeful obstetrician! Eleven year-olds won’t love them again for another eleven years! And geminis can’t get enough of them. They comprise the reading lists of boomerang-enthusiasts, and the inner dialogue of the Roman god, Janus. They have more tricks up their sleeve than a one-armed magician, and cause deliberate déjà vu. It takes the steady gaze of Medusa’s optometrist to verify their integrity; and once you do, you invariably wish they would disappear like a snowman stepping into a Jacuzzi. They lack purpose, propriety and popular appeal yet, life without them (though few are willing to admit it), would be as painful as a sword-swallower’s bowel movement.

Are they merely strange felicities of syntax, or impish glimpses of reality seen through the quartz lens of a dream? Does it matter? Either way, they’re proud, provocative, predictable, profound, precise, preposterous, preternatural, and sometimes even prurient. They’re PALINDROMES!! Fresh, frank phrases and weirdly-wired words that read the same forward and backward.