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silver jew bastard

its driving me crazy that david berman is such a fucking good poet. its driving me crazy that i think for a second i dont have enough faith in myself to write this well, or that my friends dont have enough faith in me. and meanwhile, bad writers all over new york have their heads up their asses and are still getting published, and here i am, jealous and stinking of it. so who is really at fault. i guess my head is up my own ass as well. its driving me fucking crazy and nothing can seem to cure it, not meetings or marlboros or marlboro lights and networking workshopping processing therapizing and therapeating and none of it is working. doing the dishes did help a little though.

i have to say that ww2 gives me top topay when it comes to writing, because i'm either resentful at her dishonesty or jealous of her talent. i want so much to believe everything i hear. so much that it ends up counting for nothing. and i should be doing math homework so that i feel ok about my brain and my ability to do math? this class is just making me 15 again (not a good thing), hating myself and popping zits.

its the pits.

i love to see a rainbow from a garden hose

lit up like the blood of a centerfold

i love the city and the city rain

suburban kids with biblical names.

6:26 p.m. - 2004-02-25

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