I confess. I adore this process.
Oh this group of people hates this group of people and fires are burning here and a hurricane is raging there and thoughts and prayers for latest school shooting and our hearts are with the families of the victims of the latest gated subdivision horror story and this execution was terribly botched and that execution was livestreamed and this war and these pockets bulging with blood money and JESUS IS COMING BACK (he better hurry his ass UP, won't be much left by the time he arrives) and another celebrity overdose (TRAGIC) and another outburst on another American airplane and the newest latte flavor (exciting) and the newest autumn candle (most exciting thing in several years) and another Taylor Swift album (throw a party, bake cupcakes) and oh my god the tiger ate him up and oh yay another poetry collection that references Bukowski and I'm over here strumming my out of tune electric guitar purchased in a sketchy warehouse in Belize City snapping shots of snowy egrets on the roof writing down the bones (they are legion) playing with scissors and tape and having the audacity to call it ART. Excuse me while I lick the clouds from the unapologetically azure sky.
Oh this group of people hates this group of people and fires are burning here and a hurricane is raging there and thoughts and prayers for latest school shooting and our hearts are with the families of the victims of the latest gated subdivision horror story and this execution was terribly botched and that execution was livestreamed and this war and these pockets bulging with blood money and JESUS IS COMING BACK (he better hurry his ass UP, won't be much left by the time he arrives) and another celebrity overdose (TRAGIC) and another outburst on another American airplane and the newest latte flavor (exciting) and the newest autumn candle (most exciting thing in several years) and another Taylor Swift album (throw a party, bake cupcakes) and oh my god the tiger ate him up and oh yay another poetry collection that references Bukowski and I'm over here strumming my out of tune electric guitar purchased in a sketchy warehouse in Belize City snapping shots of snowy egrets on the roof writing down the bones (they are legion) playing with scissors and tape and having the audacity to call it ART. Excuse me while I lick the clouds from the unapologetically azure sky.
