Hard to Say Goodbye

And, as unexpectedly as it appeared, Handless Mutant-Retard Month ends. Not because I feel any less kinship with my handless mutant-retard brethren, but simply because it’s hard to post about anything else when my heart is drawn to these brave, brave, handless, brave, mutant-retard souls. I must close myself off a little bit, from the heroism of Chucky P. Sloan, the handless mutant-retard who saved six pigs (and a stuffed wallaby) in the Great Chicago Fire, or the abstract villainy of Huey Devlin, who painted all the Bibles in his church with clear nail polish, which he called “the devil’s pigment.”

Or Theresa Puttie, the handless mutant-retard mistress of Felix Mendelssohn, who inspired so many of his notebook doodles but not a note of music. Or my email correspondent who I only know as “JrRaindrop,” who uses voice recognition software to compose villanelles out of the numbers s/he can’t fit into his/her sudoku puzzles.

All of these people, and more have touched me. Their stumps are on my heart.

I look forward to the next handless mutant-retard month, however long it lasts, whenever it may come.

Rob