Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Not Talking about You
I'm not talking about you but that thing you did in your larval stage is really beginning to bug me. I just watched a documentary call Andrew Cunanan a "jealousy killer." That's really dumb. Michael Jackson sings Gary Indiana. Some Dr. Demento who has this Scale of Evil, assigning numbers to inconceivable acts. Acts are rarely conceived, actually. They are usually just your everyday Immaculate Conceptions. I am a catholic because I believe in catholicity in all things. More of that Goya head under your deskism act with gargoyles giving your hair hot oil treatments. Dumb as putting the toaster next to an inflatable kiddie pool. With a long extension cord. They will call you the Pop Tart Killer. You will be assigned number 14. I almost wrote ineffable kiddie pool. How do you spell Smores poetry. I know people want to think forever looks like cement. But it probably looks like air. The hot buttered air at a gay poetry reading. Air does have visual gradients to it. Especially gay air. I know. Clogs should be brought back. For men. But the courtesan sort of clog from the ukiyo-e prints. I find men in clogs irresistible. Whether they are models or in Brueghel paintings, stumbling over frozen sheep shit in fields. Faggot. I am going to go do a series of lil flower paintings with one flower in each and the word "faggot" brushed over it in different fonts and sizes. Medicare now pays for snuff porn. Porn is indelible in a way that poetry is not.