Sonja Copic

Sonja Copic is my friend. That is bizarre and makes me happy. How did it happen? A trillion things had to go right, and a trillion things had to go funny.

Her spirit is thousands of years old. It was mingled in mystic waters inside that cavern where Greek oracles pronounced sayings and portents. It was in the hallucinogenic mist that rose up from that cave water and put those oracles into their trances.

Her spirit is in all things electrical. It hides on the dark side of invisible moons orbiting electrons. It is in the occult pulse of all magnetic manifestations. That spirit makes young men write dark music. It makes unknown animals howl and dance in secret woodland clearings.

And on icy nights, you can hear a peculiar Serbian giggle echoing amid the glimmering stars.

Sonja is neat.