“Who is that,” asked a young man, a little while back, who was not familiar with anyone outside of his own inner circle.
At that moment Eric had stepped out of a van concerned he was not on to something, not on something like everyone else, but on to something like a story he was preparing about being opposite from the fools paradise surrounding the inquisitive young man who probably knew more about astrophysics and drugs but didn’t know the meaning of swill.
Eric has only told one person what he knows to be true about his own contributions to the swill of rock and roll worship that happens over the course of a day and into the night on through the encore of the greatest show on Earth for that day.
If Eric told only one person what he knows about swill and the possibility of having a bond with thousands of witnesses to the construct of a story as it relates to the moment than I must be the one he told. That would make at least three people in the know, if justice would prevail.
Swill is what you get when you ask yourself if you are the one that is being talked about in the placement of words that make up the swill. Your significance has a place in the company of greatness if the question is being asked.
You would miss out on the swill of your own creation if you were to overlook the intent of others. All you have to do is take any word and replace it with your own word to get your own swill.
Do it more than once.
Francis Erich McElroy 