when it rains it pours

this is probably penance or paying the piper or something - synthetic chemical deposits, twisted and tangled neurons - this is the white palace of petersburg after the siege - there's been talk of restoring the amber room, it's a matter of national pride - the proles will just have to wait a little longer in the bread line

this is me grazing misogyny, seeing everything as aimed at me, reading insult to add to injury - yes, it's a sob story with ill-defined parameters, a definition with tuberculosis - it's anger, at how many times i tried, how much respect i've shown to women and how little i've gotten in return

i know what i should do, i should move to alberta and make eighty grand in a year, working on the oil patch - whatever it is they do there - i should stop being an artist - i get respect being an artist sometimes but it's empty, fucking empty

i'd just like to be a man for a day - be valued as that

need is greed, it's a needle in my arm - there's a statue of a buddha by the river - and all i can think about is unanswered emails and empty promises and people i want that don't want me - why does it ebb all at once? it's defying logic now, it's an outlier, a statistical anomaly - there's nothing there for me

sobriety will change me - it will make me even more bitter than i already am - i will nurture my anger, nurse grudges

sorry - haha - but who am i apologizing to? the great old ones of irony are smiling down on me