Nico Nuthouse Here:

Hello corpse. I'm Nico Nuthouse. I'm a scribbler, still!  For the man who says that he is the publisher of "Introvisionary Copying" talked to me on the phone line. He says that he really does not know, for sure, what to do with all my Writing Creations. People like it alright, he says, but somehow it is hard to read the way it is. He says, maybe I should use more commas, commas he says, can make it a bit easier sometimes. I told him that commas and periods were not really writing! That kind of baffled him. Then I told him that he had to take it, the way my writing comes. After all, 'gumbo' is more important than 'mumbo-jumbo'! And that's what all the rest he prints is like.

Finally he said, Nico, do what you feel like, that's what I do. But don't be so sure that we have room for the sort of 'gumbo' your creation is. I told him, that my 'gumbo' is the salt of the universe, and that he should be smart enough to see it for what it is. And if he couldn't, he should check with Hank. Hank, he says, I never see, and never talk to. Hank just send me his writing and that he could not really say anything to Hank, or about Hank, or about all the wise-guy stuff he gets from him. Hank does not get paid for his work, he said. And then he mumbled, Hank works for the Love of the Universe, and money to Hank, is like Devils to God. God could not care less. Anyway, he put it a little different than I do, but I can't remember his fancy words. And I just put it the way I understand it in my nerve-collector. And then, I told this publisher, that I work for the same outfit, and that the Universe, or whoever it boss, loves me just as much as that he himself is loved, or Hank for that matter. Love is Love, I told him. Love loves everything! Somehow, I guess he got the point. He's also a nice guy. For he does for the Universe his way, the same I try to do, my way. And the Universe has no specific way. As long as it is a way, it is O.K!

I think I understand what this publisher was trying to tell me, but then, what does he expect from me. I am just ME! And with me, there is nothing wrong! For if there was something wrong with me, there must be something wrong with the Universe. For I am a creature of it! So there, I told him. And besides, who says that somebody's writing is better than some other guy's scribbles. I think the world has become mind-sick! They think that some minds are better than some other minds. Well, I tell you, how could that be possible. Is one tree, better than another? Is one flower better than an apple? Anyway, he told me, to keep writing. Sure I said, who is to stop me. And he agreed. He said Nico. I love you. Well, what do you know? First he wants to tell me that something is almost wrong with me, and then he says I love you. I think I changed his heart! Earned another fooker there!

Yesterday, some Law-man called me at the door. He said Nico, there is something wrong with your legacy, the one from your uncle Tom. I ask him, why? He says I don't know, but there is. I told him to fix it! He looked so serious as if it was him, who would suffer. I talked to him for two hours and gave him a cup of herbels tea. I fixed him good. Later on, he said, Nico, I will see what I can do for you. And when he stood up, him and I embraced. He turned red, and then a kind of funny white, or grey. Anyway, I'm sure that he can fix it, because I know he can. Anything is fixable, as long as you know who it is to be fixed for. That's right he says, and left laughing like a child with a new toy. I felt good for him. Somehow, he had to be fixed by me, before he can fix legacies. I don't bother much with things that are to be thought about. Everything is right the way I see it. So, therefore I am happy, and feel good all the time.

Some days ago I met a lady who looked worried. I ask her, are you sick? She said, no! And then I said, is your husband sick? No, she said, he's fine, but out of work, and now what? I said lady, before you know it, the world will be out of work, then what? Yah, she said, that's the problem. I worry a lot. What can I do? I said lady, why worry? She looked at me, and I gave her a piece of my inner-heart, and she smiled at me. Then I said, are you hungry? She wasn't. So I said, what's the worry for then? I think she slowly understood a bit more. And shook my hand. The Devil in her, almost had her by the tail, but I fixed the dark-light. It went almost blue. And all because I loved her for just one minute. Well, what do you know? Dear publisher, keep printing my Casket Chuckles, for the world is in need, for a good laugh or two, in broken language and wholesome Love.