Tuesday, January 18, 2011

what form do my duties, if real, take

i guess everyone loves good news. i mean that is what we are talking about and were talking about all along. i guess some of us love a good cry too. i know i do!

being special is apparently no work at all really but being cute is. it really is. i don't feel cute very much of the time which justifies its tremendous effort, i guess.

i believe in the question, "what do you care what other people think?" i love and enjoy thinking and resent my pain and confusion. the right order of things is another thing to get wrong and feel miserable about.

i come from a world of dream and authority, where love and joy are a personal fantasy and none of any doctor's business. but i think before speaking and say what i was told. now my voice is fragiler than ever and every stranger looks prophetic. i suppose i would trust richard feynman's corpse. i suppose i would trust anybody.

if beauty is a setup then time is of the essence, of course, but i can't say of mine.

Saturday, January 08, 2011

party people

dear the alien conspiracy,

we all make mistakes. like hitler. like elvis. &c., you know? but for the record, breakfast for dinner means lox on a fucking bagel, ok? i'm in boston next week so you know where to find me.

tons 'o love,
— scott

p.s. omg i knowwwww

p.p.s. fuck i'm bleeding