dear nietzsche
please forgive me for berating you
for drawing attention to your obesity
for plucking at the drooping belly flap that
wobbles when you pace the windowsill
and spreads beneath you while you sleep, inflating you
to twice your usual dimensions
which are already quite porcine; you are
a very large cat, nietzsche
in The Wilderness your size would be considered an advantage
in The Wilderness you would have your way with lesser cats
you would dominate lesser cats you would kill lesser cats you would smother them
lesser cats in The Wilderness would fear you i think
and you could copulate with any male cat
because the meat of excess is arousing in your culture
not to mention
your very fine and soft coat
that male cats would find attractive.
i am sorry if you feel lonely
if you feel Lack
your sister mostly keeps to herself under the bed upstairs
and like most thin people she is rude and nervous
i don’t know if you are very good friends.
i think it would be healthy to develop strong relationships
and a sense of identity within your culture
but as far as i know
there are no cat groups i could take you to
nor courses in which to enroll
other than setting you free in The Wilderness
and setting you free in The Wilderness is not ideal, i would worry
(though your surplus stores of lipids would ensure your survival
until you had smothered and eaten other lesser cats)
i would worry
that you would not come back.



it takes all my arms to drag you down. sorry.

swallow you whole in the car on the corner so go ahead and cake me up

flake my dimming bulb i look

fucked as a flocked holiday tree where every christmas

i am wider i rarely fit the sink but still

shove my ass in to scrub me to a little less. i am honeyed ham on string

under all this skin

all this skin with nowhere to go.

so no no thanks i’ll not i’d rather not thanks.

i dont want your help or your love or your time i don’t want

any of your things or your eyes i don’t want your hands

or your hugs

i don’t want your gloves on my throat or your thumb in my cunt. no thanks

i want to sit here.

i want to sit here on the floor i want to put my clothes back on and

sit here and

i’ll sit here because this is what i do now this is it.

this is it.



a revelatory beam of light hath swathed the darkened crevasse of my street cred in a creamy sunglow a la the soft focus filter of pg-13 romantic comedies c. 1992-1996. this street cred laser burned my sleepy little retinas after about six hours on wikipedia invested, as per usual on saturday night at 2:40 am, in rap exegesis.

the basis for my epiphany is this:
street cred is different for
white people.

in order to accrue street cred as a white person, one must simply exhibit symptoms of severe psychological unrest, and this is made exponentially more viable if psychological unrest manifests via extended episodes of clinical nervous collapse punctuated by: institutionalization, rampant drug addiction and failed rehabilitation, suicide attempts, successfully completed suicide, unrequited romantic fixation that results in stabbing, stalking, lurking, a painful break-up, compulsive masturbation in public restrooms, etc.

i am completing a chart of Caucasian Street Credibility Paradigms. more on that soon.

white people.
white people.
white people.
we are delicate flowers.
don't hurt our feelingz.



on the seventh day i removed the left arm and placed the arm on the floor next to the foot i removed on the third day. by the fifth day the foot i had removed was tender and grey and smelled of standing water. by the eighth day the left arm smelled of the hair it held clenched in its fist.

on the tenth day i removed the pupil which had seemed impossible to do all previous days without also removing the cornea. but on the ninth day i acquired the proper tools.

where do you go. where do you go. what do you do with your days. where do you sit in your home. when do you sleep. are you in ache. are you alone. is there a hill. is there a window. are you alone. are you alone.

i am here still. i am grey and tender. i am without many parts. i stink deep and heavy. i am without many parts but i retain certain holes. i retain certain water. i am good still for certain things.



on the sixth day the voice of the earth shook and from the tremor was birthed a village inhabited by people that kissed with their fingertips because the earth bore them without mouths. the people of the village absorbed nutrients with gaze and because of this they grew from the eye before they grew from the body. the people of the village held skins the color of clay to better sink into the soil when the fires ripped their homes into the winds. when the winds came the people of the village wore goggles and they grew thin.

i dreamt you wrote a letter and kissed it and sent it.

when i woke i searched my rooms for the letter and searched for days and upon my face a wetness slicked and dried and i sat in the center of my rooms overturned with papers and furniture and i sat in the center and spoke not and slept not and after a certain time had passed i thought to knife a slit into my sternum to open up my ribs wherein

wherein i found the body of a bird and nothing else.