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.
