i am sitting in a small dim room, inside of large dark room, listening to "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" being sung badly. the roof is leaking, the buckets are gone, and yesterday i watched undistributed movies for twelve continuous hours.
there is one half cob of corn digesting somewhere in my stomach, and this morning i watched the right reverend R______ relocate a wedding to a locale less inclement. my arch-nemesis is one of the groomsmen, (sadly), i have neither the time nor inclination to torment him. i suppose that makes me something of an anemic nemesis, a mimesis of nemesis if you will.
(i will write nothing of any points this day,
and a wise woman once told me: [SEE BELOW]
last night i dreamed of a madman, a hospital, and a plan to market a flying car. he asked me (in the dream) "how much do you wanna make, you gotta have a number. i say twenty million, twenty million each." this madman (in the waking) is an autonomen, and nearly two years ago i wrote a poem about him (and his bride) that has yet to make it beyond the title...
"everything is beside the point all the time.")
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