Creativity 1.4

1.4

she was Lola in white socks, receiving your email and trying to respond, but I got lost she could be you, could be we, and all never was-not now, not ever it was just a big joke to you until she peeled your shin back over the front of your face you were too sensitive, really I never would have guessed that this would be a warning to all the young minds think more than you talk, live before you decide to jump off a bridge Stop putting poisons in your body. That was for the old fucks, a taste for postmodern fiction I don’t know what that means do you can you hear me Do you understand the rules The rules, the rules… “All work and no play” makes Jack Nicholson into a character you can sympathize with One hundred red percent realistic, I made up my mind-red in the head, complicated and hard to follow Kafka with his one hundred chakras, sad demeanor with the shuffling feet, and defeat in bodily form, a metamorphosis Thursday morning, nine in the am, oh my goodness in the morning paper, he wanders from person to person to show off his newspaper article, ignoring that fact that he should be teaching his students how to think,  “god forbid!” the little weasels tearing my flesh on your honeymoon hello sister how are you today one of my best friends and she told her husband  turning them into junkies that is what john Irving said I never would have said the options there are no options I am not bring you options I am not your waiter so do not speak to me I’m still waiting for your dream voice mixing the alcohol with the downs might have been a mistake you think about it and get back to me in 100 words or less a conversation we have or should have had I don’t know I don’t remember what she wants how to think god forbid you and I need so many things connecting one piece to another I made the cocktails and I made the sandwiches surprised and kind of embarrassed Zelda was the first reader living in the US as a stranger it was because of that strangeness observing people and the world out jumps the frogs from the airplane I couldn’t stop and again with this Dostoevsky thing first Miller then Murakami the conspiracy goes on and on