“Unicorns? Unicorns? Tra-la-la?”

This phrase has been running through my head for two days now, often borrowing David Bowie’s voice and intonation from a bit in Labyrinth where he says something very similar. It just sits there, repeated over and over, refusing to go away. This doesn’t become dangerous until I start listening to Suffragette City and pondering what happens when I mash Unicorns and the Goblin King Jared and space stations named after David Bowie songs together. It may be congealing into a story.

I thought I was done with unicorns. Alas, I am not that lucky. People are going to start thinking that me and unicorns have a thing (I swear to god we’re just good friends).

Wait, ‘scuse me a sec, I have to go chase a chicken out of the kitchen.

Peter disappears to chase a chicken away from the cat food. Chicken leaves kitchen with cries of Attica! Attica! The chickens really do get a raw deal, what with The Cat hunting them for food and my continued scrambling of their unfertilized embryos as a source of sustenance.

Right, where was I? Oh, yes, unicorns and David Bowie.

If you need me, I’ll be over in the corner with Fritz the laptop, fighting off The Cat as we try to figure out a way to make this work.

  1 comment for ““Unicorns? Unicorns? Tra-la-la?”

  1. 15/07/2010 at 11:42 PM

    When I read Horn I was deeply disturbed by your unicorn fetish. By the end of the book I realised it was "deeply disturbed in a good way". I have the same feeling now.

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