If I say it,
it is true.
If I say it,
it is true.
My writing
lacks logic.
Like me, you
say, going
from tid-
bit to tid-
bit as if
everything
is in a pro-
per place –
has an app-
ropriate loc-
ale, one thing
leading, con-
sequently, to
the other. Like
narrative anyone
can follow, and
occasionally nod in
vigorous agreement,
as if to relay “This
makes sense, I con-
cur!” Like chron-
ology, like an
engaging bed-
time story told
with the primary
purpose of putting
one to sleep. Sound-
ly, with intermittent
dreams (anti-logic,
experimental poet-
ics, non sequiturs,
etc.). I arose at
seven a.m. I lunched
at eleven. I interviewed
at two. I slept around
one in the morning.
I slept around one
loud morning. I
am uncloudy and I
rate the logic of
my world. Breathe
in. Breathe out.
This day is very
alive. In fact,
it rocks! Today
rocks! And I rule!
Oh, happy day
of the living!
my world. Breathe
in. Breathe out.
This day is very
alive. In fact,
it rocks! Today
rocks! And I rule!
Oh, happy day
of the living!
