Sunday, December 23, 2007


I hate school and I hate class
and I hate homework and I hate
twelve (12) page papers
and I hate grades,
but I hate myself.

And I hate my dad and I hate my mom and I hate
my sister and my sister's friends and my friends
and acquaintances
and myself
and people I've never met and racial minorities - especially blacks -
and women
and leaders of foreign nations
and the impoverished, flea-bitten bloated-bellied AIDS Babies of those nations,
but I hate myself.

And I hate Aeschylus and Sophocles and Euripides and
Socrates and Plato and Aristotle and
Derrida and Sam Beckett and
the Theater of the Avant Garde
and Theater
and logical derivations and doubly-linked-lists and especially AVL trees.

NYU and C and emails from my grandmother and The
World and God and my father and my grandfather and me and every one of my successes
and all of my failures.

I hate this blog and I hate this poem.

And I hate Global Warming and I hate
hybrid cars and The Economy and Adam
and Eve and Charles Darwin and Sigmund Freud,
but I hate myself.

I hate love and
I hate generosity and
I hate diarrhea
and Ayn Rand.
I hate hate and
I hate haters
and hate groups
and hate speech
and speech in general
as well as non-verbal communication and silence.
I hate love again and respect and children
and hope and happiness and suffering.
I hate death and life and my life and me
and my name and my toes and my id and my ego
and my boyhood and my nose and I hate
and my cock and my balls and my asshole and my mouth
and my interests and my intestines and my aorta and my neocortex too.

But most of all I hate you.
I hate your face and your breath and your ideas
and everything you think, say, and do.
I hate the money you make
and the sex you have
and the things you own.
I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!
I hate you, the world, God, Christmas, and you.

But I hate myself.

If I get a diploma, I will burn it.