 It's great to see you all here and for the show of Chris Felver, one of the photographers who has the sun in his lens and makes us actually all look human. Indeed. I'm going to read the Atenga Arcane. One, this serious star we are, red even as they say we can't anymore be. We've been finished off by technology and the CIA. And there's no way anyone wants to go back to what never anyway was. But since we're poor, all lovers are poor. How much my hand misses the curve at the bottom of your bum. Intimid gestures that are ours and no others. Even if they're general, even legion, they belong only to us, our irresistible bod theology. For I want to play you and with you play the whole range of ironies, puns, and sardonic harmonies as we really are our HEU mantics of each other's bones. You for my front one, me for your back and bum bone and thigh bone, come my achy bicep, my stunning knee, keep me company. Summer will soul your spring out of the gate as you're unlike any other Phillies then the Roan, too. Do you know the attenga? Have you ever danced it? I'm going to dance the attenga and then teach you it because it's Valentine's Day and the attengas that dance come all the way from Haiti where the people draw a veve pouring flower on the earth forming hearts of wonderful shapes that say, I love you in voodoo. The attenga does that too. When you're a whirl in it, it reveals your Buddha as the heart it is. And even if Buddha in Haitian means bum, Buddha's heart lowers its four eyelids blushingly because the attengas what's happening everywhere throughout the Middle East and North Africa and hopes are spinning fast for Haiti and one day all the Americas including the U.S. two, three, I was long gone since from you with my mistake. I couldn't leave for the weaving kept me waiting, frustrating for what I never knew. And then the veins came and your fine aches and immobilizing shakes for the creamy jizz jazz of it all. So we were hosed in each other's stocking, a real keppel and neither one for the same old but both for the young. You with your arms hoping to the world of whatever's arising and wearing nothing under your seersuck of bra but nipples and plumps, nib libbles and plums, and those eyes filled with spermy yearns for Jerry Atrex's succotash humping. So grab your partner's girthy waist. I'm gonna do the attenga with you Aggie and here's the surprise I've kept for all. Your attenga spelled the other way Agnetta and we together write Happy Revolutionary Valentine's Day in veve to them and on your birthday tomorrow to you.