hey world,

hey world,

can we please look at some of our problems again for the first time in 14 seconds, thanks!

clive davis once said that laura nyro used to instruct her producers to make the string section sound mauve with burnt orange undertones. ok, i got that, did you?

missed it?

is she a shithead? are you? are we playing Chess? i don't play masculinist competitive goddamn head games, fuck you this is people.

everyone knows how hard i'm tryin to be alienated and it's not happenin right. ok, let's go back a few days, print out a copy of one of my poems so you can shake hands with your hollow shell, print out medication station around the bend, don't argue ok, you can always leave, ok, thanks.

see that?

that's how i like to talk whenever feelin socially at ease (ie never).

dr. fuckhead understands he is a psychiatrist from the old days, (freud), is also best chemist (our days) i ever met, if he can pull it off why can't his colleagues?

psychologist does not understand, if i don't express myself you might as well snuff me.

he says no no no don't talk like this in front of people, they will think you're crazy. sure there is kind of a beauty in there he says, but don't cast your pearls before swine.

webaster says, sorry hon, we gotta work with what we're handed. his very disciplined IQ is off the charts, guess what boys, it was a decision, and yes, size matters.

webaster says go to halfprice again, buy books on poetry. fuck you very much homo, remember last week, 140 dollars on jewish scholars, now i'm supposed to trade them in for poesy? he won't let up.

ok at halfprice, 8 books of poems and at the register someone goes oh look everyone isn't she cute, she must be an artist, all her books are color-coordinated.

wow, they were right, all my books were color-coordinated, 3 colors, red white and black, i didn't even notice.

what this means:

some parts of me are still out there that i don't know about but other people can see plain as paint.

and?

oh, i think that's enough.

don't you? you should.

you wanna talk pretension?

i can liberate the artist in you. this is good work, happens all the time, like this:

she walks out the door a soccer mom and comes back after midnight samuel beckett, kickin shit over, drunk, spinning cartwheels in the yard, laughing/crying, trying to seduce her husband under the stars, who says this:

robin plan is a bad influence on my wife.

mrs. blank says, you're the man, you must be right.

i say:

there goes a regular. let's not cherish our memories.

respect my poetry, respect yourself, thanks.

Trouble

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