William Keckler. Poet, Narcissist, Blawger. Sad clairvoyant. Answering machine for the dead. Beep. Formerly, the Valerie Solanas of American poetry blogs. If I owe you an apology, I'm saying it right here. J'accuse la manie. Butthole Whisperer and erstwhile poacher/harvester of ivory. Out of Africa and deepest Harrisburg. Goreyphile from a very early age. Bipolar bear much baited by circus freaks. Let's watch crackheads watch RUGRATS on vintage NICKELODEON.
WHORE PIECE:
Be a whore for a year.
This means a literal whore.
Have sex only for money.
Have sex only with people you despise.
Throw all the money you earn
into the sea late at night.
Come back the next day
and see if any money washed ashore. Complain.
I wish I could say humans move me closer to God, but usually it's the Cocteau Twins. I'm crazy as a Trappist monk talk show.How come nobody ever complains that they're overrated? I have poetry horror stories. I don't hate anyone but human coat hangers get on my nerves. Cliquey sons-'a'-bitches. Son, I am disappoint. The greatest weakness of anything is that it's not something else. Disability niggah. I cannibalized a hipster and I liked it. Pray for me.
4 comments:
Heh heh HEH!!! I blogged you.
You are one of the funniest people on this planet!
Thanks for blogging me!
I love your latest series of canvassing of the visual arts and creations.
I need a bubble bath right now.
And some more Miranda Seymour.
xo
I shouldn't type when I just work up...I just typed the funniest email that made no sense to someone lol.
They wrote back "are you okay?"
I reread it and it looked like a hamster had jumped around a keyboard to type the email.
lolol.
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