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I was, from a few days after birth until I was nearly three years old, educated and instructed in every proper discipline at my adoptive mother's orders, and I spent my time just as every child does, that is, in drinking, eating, and sleeping; in eating, sleeping, and drinking; in sleeping, drinking, and eating. I was always wallowing in the mud, smudging my nose, dirtying my face, running my shoes over at the heels, catching flies with my mouth, and I liked to chase the butterflies over which my mother had dominion. I piddled on my shoes, sh*t in my shirt, blew my nose on my sleeves, dropped snot in my soup, waddled around everywhere, drank from my slipper, and usually rubbed my belly with a basket. My teeth I sharpened with a wooden shoe, my hands I washed with soup, I combed myself with a cup, sat between two chairs with my rump on the ground, covered myself with a wet sack, drank while eating my soup, ate my cake without bread, bit while laughing, laughed while biting, often spat on my plate, farted from fatness, piddled at the sun, hid in the water to get out of the rain, struck while the iron was cold, daydreamed, was as sweet as sugar, flayed the fox, said the monkey's paternoster, returned to my sheep, turned the sows out to hay, thrashed the servant to teach the master a lesson, put the cart before the horse, scratched myself where it did not itch, wormed secrets out of everyone, embraced too much and grasped little, ate my white bread first, put horseshoes on locusts, tickled myself to make myself laugh, was always rushing in the kitchen, offered sheaves of straw to the gods, had the Magnificat sang at Matins and found it quite appropriate, ate cabbage and sh*tted leeks, was able to recognize a fly in my milk, filled my days doing nothing, raked paper, smeared parchment, took to my heels, drank bottoms up, counted without my host, beat around the bush without getting the bird, thought that clouds were brass nickels and that kidneys were lanterns, doubled my money on nothing, played the *ss in order to bray, made a hammer with my fists, captured cranes on the first try, wanted chain mail made link by link, always looked a gift horse in the mouth, jumped from c*ck to bull, robbed Peter to pay Paul, made a ditch out of dirt, kept the wolf from the door, hoped to catch larks if the skies fell, made a virtue of necessity, made soup of bread, cared as little for the shorn as for the shaven, and flayed the fox every morning. The other neighborhood dogs ate out of my dish; I in turn ate with them. I bit their ears, they scratched my nose; I blew up their bungholes, they licked my chops.
(OK, that's from Rabelais's "Gargantua and Pantagruel")
(OK, that's from Rabelais's "Gargantua and Pantagruel")
Music 
Collaborations
| Title | Genre | Released | Plays |
| Mysteries of Love w/Mark Hayes | Other | Mar 3, 2009 | 741 |
| While My Guitar Gently Weeps w/Mark Hayes | Other | Feb 21, 2009 | 1061 |
| Variations For Wind Quartet- Revoiced | Classical | Feb 20, 2009 | 228 |
| The Outer Circle 1.0b | Other | Feb 15, 2009 | 182 |
| The Outer Circle 2.0 remix | Other | Feb 14, 2009 | 305 |
