uh gee uh



the thing about her is that she's doing it all yeh

but ok what about what G. Flaubert famously said

about the ideal writer's ideally boring habits contrasted

with his so not boring imagination I guess



I epitomize that idea. well in fact minus any glib

shit a big part of this shit is feeling nostalgia for five

minutes ago or else 20 years ago passed in an instant

but anyway it's a new world these days, and a dangerous one



and forbidding. to a point. they say we're up here a small state

and yet outpeople up north get lost every day. traditional

lines of the American geography are bullshit. this can be

taken literally and/or as metaphor. equal application



tangentially I'll tell you I do have perverse thoughts about

certain ordinary young corporately held women seen daily and regard these

thoughts as little brothers, too dumb to know what

they're about. sex is so overrated. so not worth bothering



of course you need an outlet for sex to see this.

I never had one for years but feel so sanguine

now it gives me hope about myself.

men care about men things.



sex trouble is the trouble of boys.

no time for that now:

my anger is what troubles me. note I don't say "scares"

I don't feature any more personal apocalypes for me



unless of course I reserve one more of the deep Jungian type

but conditionally on the deep DL and no one knows. I might take one more

of those. but poetry. you can do one a day:

fiction is so much harder and I motherfuckers need to pare out



a space to write. around here I mean. Because I will not let cheesy New York

new uh huh uh huh motherfuckers win. my goal is to make my old

teacher Tony Ardizzone shocked and proud. Look What That One Did

sort of thing. I'm only half doing it now not even half



I got so many fists and barely one face to put them in except this one

right here



right here