an ersatz failure

My will of iron
has been smelted in
the furnaces of shame. burning
hot like my face
bristling with indignation
caused by a nameless fish
er, a favour?

Or, more simply put i was told my beard felt like pubes and was called pube face all night. Thus I shaved, and am looking baby faced, if the babies mother was a crack whore during the pregnancy. momma used to tickle my feet with the coat hanger. It was propably just as well i shaved to be honest. eating sticky food in china buffet king provided a good reason, if you shiv. and its lame and melodramatic to suppose i need to grow a beard as a sign of humility.

earlier pish was inspired by reading bukowski poetry. what a moody old contankerous man he was. I find it a comfort to think that if my old man wrote poetry then thats pretty much what it would be like. "you're all shite and only i can do it write" (wordplay!)

on the subject of writing, i have a depressing suspicion that the only way to be a really great writer is to put the words ahead of the people. (using spell checker might help to) aint gonna happen man, no way no (how?) great people tend to live depressing lives or are evil murdering bastards, like alexander the great-or voldemorte! I'd settle for good anyday. or more often that not a smarter than the average bare pass.

do you know when you fart and walk away and the fart follows you. these are to be called stalker farts from now on. it was decided at the last meeting. and i want sales and marketing operating in perfect union on this one, like banjo and kazooi.