mmdxvii

Ooh, Spank Me, Amadeus!

I am the Marquis de Sadness,

heart blatantly on sleeve (tat

tooed underneath in case of

sleevelessness), loving every

lugubrious minute of it.  Pre-

sently, the sound that the 

pornography makes is as 

equidistant from me as either 

hopes or fears.  Present circum-

stances disallow my comfort

zone from being swallowed

up like a very ripe banana.

Sure, you can say “I told you

so,” only to be eaten by a

velociraptor in the morn-

ing (mañana).  Try not to

tell me so afterwards be-

cause I already ate the

future just to get here in

time to tell you this now.

mmdxvi

U Does Not = Heart

Read this poem as directed

at me.  The last week or so

needs motivation, right?

After 850 calories (it

says here) “BOMBED

AIRPLANE PILOTS

AVERTED” (CNN

headlines that get

larger and larger

as the day prog-

resses until

(one single

word, larg-

est type-

face ever):

“FEAR

[EXCLAMA-

TION POINT]”—

This, only to

scare the dead 

into living (well,

nowadays, who 

can tell the liv-

ing from the 

dead, anyway?)

So, Peaches got

happier.  And me,

I’m planning a trip

to Lost Angels in

less than the cost

of a pair of a pair

of decent pajamas

(two weeks at present).

Thanks again, government!