you said, "clearly we should take a giant crowbar and fuck the world, when we are god. clearly, god beat us to it"

i said "this, that you wrote, is exactly how i feel, NOW, NOW, NOW. indeed just moments ago i wrote a poem on dolly to similar effect, except not about the world but about myslef. i call it "submit."

i said "fuck im angry. im just so fucking angry and low. i look outside and it's anger. i look inside and it's anger. i hate what i am doing, i hate what i am being, i hate what else is, and anything i dont hate seems to mock me, or reduces me to tears. i'm in the country of last things, to quote a paul auster title."

yeah. last night i cried because i was holding a little seamonster toy and i had that thing like memory, fragile sunlight, and i cried because there aren't any seamonsters.

there are what- landmines full of bank notes?

and giant squid. my sister pointed this out to me, but i'd already thought of it myself: i comforted myself with giant squid. we'll have to settle for squid. leviathan squid.

submit to the sledgehammer
you made from your own clay
why not admit, it's familiar
you always do things this way.
submit submit to the pummelling heart
that punches its way through your chest
all the downbeat concrete rerun repeating
foolish post-teenaged mess.
submit, you git, to the usual bullshit
submit, if you won't act your age
you're drunk and you're low and you're full of it, hypocrite
free as a bird in a cage.