sorry, new york

I shook a dead cat, elegant and invertebrate, out of the bag. Now the cat’s out of the bag.

I’m in New York City. Every person here is John Lennon doing a spot-on impression of Lou Reed inside of Andy Warhol’s large intenstine. Just kidding.

Every person here is either a cabdriver, an ethnobotanist, or unemployed. Every single person.


No one complains about getting enough sleep. They just wake up, have a cup of coffee, and start writing poems. Then a crabface salad at 1, a Diet Coke at 1:11, then it’s disco sexpo 97 till the next day.

I met a really nice welder. The subway system is Andy Warhol’s large intestine. Lol

Have you heard the parable about the jackass that found himself all but lost in the desert? He pins back his ears in frustration. He takes it out on his desert companion, the magpie. A single, beaten-down cloud hangs in the sky. The wind sounds fake; it’s an audio recording of someone going “wooooomb” over and over.

MAGPIE: We’ll die if we don’t find water.

JACKASS: We’ll die either way. Finding water will prolong our lives for another day, but what’s the use? We’re still lost.

MAGPIE: Ok hang on a sec I’ll figure something out