Read Tender Buttons.
Read A Moveable Feast.
Read anything by Lena Dunham.
Eat yogurt, watch "Girls."
Read your ex's obituary.
Read a cookbook.
Read a Chef Boyardee pizza box.
Sit on the toilet.
Read an original screenplay
by Tobe fucking Hooper.
Once. This wise writer told me
what another wise writer told him.
Don't Write For Free.
Sell Every Fucking Word.
I've never been to AWP but.
I believe.
I believe.
I don't know anything about anything.
I respond to trolls at YouTube.
I don't know what the hell I'm defending.
I know nada.
I know nada pretty motherfucking hard.
There are galaxies bursting and jizzing
with planets none of us know nothing about
yet we continue to dismiss people
from our lives on the basis
of text messages exchanged
when Mercury is in retrograde
and the full moon is in Pisces
and the sun is in Libra
and the car is in the shop
and the donuts on the counter
are getting stale.
Ants carry everything away.
What the ants can't carry
the cockroaches devour.
Then there are rats.
Then there are scorpions.
Then there are snakes hissing
terrible fucking news.
We're all expelled.
We're all out of quarters
at the laundromat where the television
spits out "General Hospital"
while we sit there bleeding
needing more than any reasonable
companion could possibly comprehend.
Writers try to write their way
out of hell.
Writers use every fucking
trick in the book.
Writers mock the world
with DON'T TRY on their headstone.
Writers outlast asshole bosses
and god awful lovers
and the worst hamburger
ever created in Texas.
Writers don't drown at Lake Kemp
when they are three.
Writers drink and vomit
and sing karaoke because they
think they're deeper than Billie Holiday
even though their ass and the rest of them
is whiter than the page
they bleed on.
Writers bleed every syllable
so very fucking LOUD
and all the neighbors
are welcome
to the show.
Writers are the exes you just can't quit.
You Google and shit...there they are again.
You flush and writers clog your toilet.
You die several deaths and writers wake you up
each time with,"It was just a bad dream. Let's have sex."
Sex with writers is the best
unless they're in recovery
then lo siento, baby.
No hot writer pussy
or hot writer dick
for YOU.
Writers are the bad wreck on I-35.
Why are you looking?
Keep your eye on the road.
All those billboards advertising
America's best promises.
God.
Beer.
Gasoline.
Tacos.
Twenty more miles
until instant
paradise.
Read A Moveable Feast.
Read anything by Lena Dunham.
Eat yogurt, watch "Girls."
Read your ex's obituary.
Read a cookbook.
Read a Chef Boyardee pizza box.
Sit on the toilet.
Read an original screenplay
by Tobe fucking Hooper.
Once. This wise writer told me
what another wise writer told him.
Don't Write For Free.
Sell Every Fucking Word.
I've never been to AWP but.
I believe.
I believe.
I don't know anything about anything.
I respond to trolls at YouTube.
I don't know what the hell I'm defending.
I know nada.
I know nada pretty motherfucking hard.
There are galaxies bursting and jizzing
with planets none of us know nothing about
yet we continue to dismiss people
from our lives on the basis
of text messages exchanged
when Mercury is in retrograde
and the full moon is in Pisces
and the sun is in Libra
and the car is in the shop
and the donuts on the counter
are getting stale.
Ants carry everything away.
What the ants can't carry
the cockroaches devour.
Then there are rats.
Then there are scorpions.
Then there are snakes hissing
terrible fucking news.
We're all expelled.
We're all out of quarters
at the laundromat where the television
spits out "General Hospital"
while we sit there bleeding
needing more than any reasonable
companion could possibly comprehend.
Writers try to write their way
out of hell.
Writers use every fucking
trick in the book.
Writers mock the world
with DON'T TRY on their headstone.
Writers outlast asshole bosses
and god awful lovers
and the worst hamburger
ever created in Texas.
Writers don't drown at Lake Kemp
when they are three.
Writers drink and vomit
and sing karaoke because they
think they're deeper than Billie Holiday
even though their ass and the rest of them
is whiter than the page
they bleed on.
Writers bleed every syllable
so very fucking LOUD
and all the neighbors
are welcome
to the show.
Writers are the exes you just can't quit.
You Google and shit...there they are again.
You flush and writers clog your toilet.
You die several deaths and writers wake you up
each time with,"It was just a bad dream. Let's have sex."
Sex with writers is the best
unless they're in recovery
then lo siento, baby.
No hot writer pussy
or hot writer dick
for YOU.
Writers are the bad wreck on I-35.
Why are you looking?
Keep your eye on the road.
All those billboards advertising
America's best promises.
God.
Beer.
Gasoline.
Tacos.
Twenty more miles
until instant
paradise.
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