To live in an egg is a yoke (pardon) a joke!

Let’s face it: life is a bad yoke, that is, a joke, depending on the way you approach it, the way you try to untangle it; how you hatch  it, how you break out of your shell, how you crack, like a bad joke, like this one. Please don’t get nervious. There’s more to come. Whether ’tis better or worse, only God (or perhaps Shakespeare) knows. "Life’s but a walking shadow..." But then again most of us have to die sooner or later before finding out what we should have known, what we should have done, what life was supposed to have been about when we were still alive and kicking and getting kicked.

    Then again when you die you realize it was all a lie, that "life is the stuff dreams are made of, " so you just sigh and moan and groan and let the whole thing go by, bye-bye. Or, in the midst  of your yoga exercises, while saying your mantra,  you think what wonderful things you could have done to save humanity, how you could have torn your heart out loving her (to death), how you could have defended the poor against the rich, done a revamp of Marx’s version of the class struggle, saved the planet from the gases, saved the whales from extinction, saved yourself from yourself, removed that horrible tattoo on your tongue, written a more than best seller on a Wall Street market freak who lost everything in the crash and began to sell potatoe pancackes on 5th avenue for five cents each, how you and only you, in an act of great heroism stopped the terrorist war one-handed with no help from the Pentagon, how you refused to pay your income taxes and built Walden Pond Two in front of the White House for only $3.30, how you vowed to run naked down main street shouting: "I’m free! I’m free!" and then collapsed deader than a doornail, shot down by a Homer Simpson fan...