She knew what joy was like:
a frantic fuck to summon the missing ghosts of her ancestors
those who abandoned us
we’re alone in this building of random communications
I am a famous artist who discovered in my early thirties that
drinking a full glass of a secret mixture derived from boiling
a certain OTC pill with a [name withheld] OTC ointment
for 1 hour on a low flame gave me the dexterity, vision, and stamina
to paint murals in hundreds of villages across North America.
The language is pyrotechnic, mind-expanding. With 64 poems it might be the new I-Ching, treating the dictionary like a bundle of yarrow stalks—pull carefully, you have nothing to lose but your illusion of limits.
Actually, the review praised a Sardine favorite. But it got the movie all wrong. The reviewer talked about the director, writers, and actors as celebrities and potential award winners. Little was said about the meaning or nature of the movie.
The stronger the archconservative, the more held over anyone else.
The more who’re here, the more who’re expecting.
The madder the hatter, the more hungry the hats.
The more the man in the moon sings, the better anyone sleeps.
who is hiding in military uniform
except children who lack something
and children who are trying to take something away from them?
Deborah had warned everyone that she would be out of touch given her schedule, but one night Vicki called and left a voice mail. Deborah figured her cash-strapped friend was looking for a place to stay.
I felt wild. Irresponsible. Like the old days. Like being hungover when everything felt loud and tilted. (I loved my hangovers.) Or fucking off in college. Any piece of writing was done the morning of, with my girlfriend trying to sleep while I typed out my play or whatever.
The third act begins with what’ll become Paul’s redeeming moment: entering the same classroom where he was first indoctrinated, lulled into romanticizing war and being an altruistic soldier. Paul decides to confront the teacher and new recruits and speak the truth.
My martyrdom is near. Here, in the darkness underground, except for the device in my hand and the daylight above, I kneel in prayer. When I stop writing, I will have posted this message.
And you say, whoa, doan be droppin
those ’od·damn, ’od·awful Gee’s
you break ’em you
flush ’em, right?
