More flattery.

"I don't like disliking things! I'm just good at it!"

- Me, in a debate on Facebook.

"If we deleted everything else you've ever written, that line would be enough information."

- My friend, Alex.

Flattery.

I saw this, and thought of the story where Walt took his daughters to a dirty park, and became inspired to make Disneyland.

Is this a commentary on the decline of Disney culture, or just a shitty t-shirt?

Man, I’ve been reading your blog too much.

- My friend, Joe.

Go where you need to go.

The people who love you may not go with you.

Don't be dissuaded.

You're too important.

And they'll still love you.

Return of the mass grave jokes!

Some literary places for a mass grave:

beneath the corpse that's beneath the floorboards,
in an enchanted wardrobe,
under Yertle the Turtle.

Some Shakespearean places for a mass grave:

at the end of every fucking tragedy,
dressed as women onstage,
buried amid Kenneth Branagh's ego.

Some poetic, American places for a mass grave:

at the end of the road less traveled,
dragged through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
in the icebox to probably save for breakfast.

I put the "erotic" in "neurotic."

Or anyway, I would, if "neurotic" was spelled without a U.

And I was a better in bed.

And my penis wasn't frail.


On second thought, I'll leave "erotic" where it is.

A simple word.

Dirgedicate, v., To sympathize with sad music so thoroughly that you start to feel better, since there's someone who's as sad as you...

...but you get sad again when you remember that they've made music and you haven't done anything.

AT NIGHT

leaves fall on the tennis court.

BEFORE WORK
a tennis coach sweeps the court.

AT WORK
the tennis coach guilts me.

DURING WORK
no leaves fall on the tennis court.

AT NIGHT
leaves fall on the tennis court.

seventeen syllables

tear away your shedding skin
like the tablecloth under
the dishes