SOMETIMES TO BE....
Sometimes, to be pretty honest, it gets dreary
everywhere : languid like a Dunciad one is only
forced to read, but can't. Unable to sit, unwilling
to move, I become my own conundrum.
-
My head is swimming with fearsome stuff : the
cancer of my thinking, the pleurisy of my emotion,
the black death of my wishful soul. Let me (excuse
me) turn down this sound. 'Movies on the Radio';
can you believe they call it that? David Garland
and his foolishness - movie scores in a classical
mode, to be proudly played and explicated on a
third-rate classical channel so full of itself it's
been said even Beethoven turned it off.
-
Why would I drink such chlorinated water, such
a fluoride mix of mess? Give me the germs and the
bugs of my due. I know I'll survive. Will you?
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