I Am Normal

I am normal in a transcendental, misanthropic, voluntarily imprisoned kind of way.

I can't shake the night terrors. Images of a rich man breaking into my apartment

to take away my insurgent, poor person belongings, to monetarily cleanse the land

and pave the way for a more lucrative, more free America. I am terrified

with the world of impersonal greetings and appreciations. The non-committal

“How're you today?” and the bubbly, predisposed response “I'm good, and you?”

It drives me quietly crazy, most days, when my porch is the brink of my intellectual expansion.

Where the books of dead, often irrelevant men and women, compose the extent of my social

commitments, each Saturday night. I miss some of those unsubstantial situations. I regret

passing up the chance to party mindless with my partners in fashion.

It's not that I think this generation can't make a difference,

it's that I know we can't make a difference. However,

we sure can make music and independent films.

We have mastered all arbitrary things.

How one of us wrote a screenplay about a guy

who wrote a screenplay about a guy

who stood up for what he believed in.

It won an award at Cannes.

Another guy wrote a poem in his living room

about a guy who got mad

and wrote a poem about it in his living room.

No one read it.