All About the Small Funeral Business A. How to Establish the Small Funeral business Thank you, Doctor, for taking time to come speak to us today. No Problem, Duke. After yes, after all, yes, all, after all. Yes. Great! Then, let’s start at your front. And that’s a good start—yes, all right—but, take care things may actually turn jarringly downwards. Perhaps much too jarringly. Y’ know? Y’know? Know as well? Pe? What? What? Am I ill? Ha! Yes. Fun. That’s right. So, ‘inny’ay, we seem off on one fine start, popp’d headed fer that one, two, sue, so, soo my face anywarts, my dead spaniel, not to trash no mo’ viewer time—go on, but—first, io. Pe petun, tentunio? Fascinating. Hiccup! Yappo-stanzo? Yes, yes. ‘nyway; here’s how to pop every small funeral business. ‘now no one will come ‘f we’re not serious, sane, sober—sanely, serious, so. If you pick up an existing funeral business, then you, on those Morrissey’s mark out that twatchemmbrrr—should git up‘n go! But; am I ill, or what? Ha! Aeeroplaneee, Bruce. And right now, too. The port’s that way. Bet me. Whomp. K; the story within this coffin (poiuytrewq) business, this business that we—ah hoo—picked up within this business, you may also obtain one used. Perhaps take over a small funeral business mysteriously walked off from by its young married couple—ah hoo. ‘he whole of what we saw ending up of began, up between prior partners as an innocent game of nightmare level professionally played version sixteen used copy of The Chasms of Mister DeFrance. What? Am I ill? Ha! Surely so. Surely ‘s to tha’ they found out the hard way it wasn’t ‘ll ‘s cracked up t’ be. Nio petu. My God! (mnbvcxz) But, you just catch breath, pick up, and get up, and go, and you should be prepared to exercise restraint in radically changing—ack—the ones before you here, most likely were fanatics; ‘na coffin ‘lly business fanatics, for this very right here casketentational aerosoulian business. So, go on saying doing and whutz much the same so’s the focus’s snot so as to generate negative word-of-mouth assuming all your slumber rooms will surely remain empty; caused by you only you sitting on things with a far too different weight, in an opposite spot, tilting things o’ the bad side of the business. This gaucho-cracked big stout hot of an idea, cam’ from t’ first of the male halves. But Frank, hey, wait—do ye even get it? Uh-WOK! Big battle! Am I ill? Ha! Do you even get it? Spluttery splattery uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhh. Is that by Maestro Von Fistula? You’ve most excellent taste! Oh, what—what? Have we cake? Of course. We can wait while you choose. Of course. Check the display case. Up at the register. Do go on. We have many varieties. And—if we don’t have one that you like, and you don’t buy one, you’ll pay nothing. Deal? Hey! Wow. B. How to Organize the Small Funeral Business Organization should be slick, swift, right, ‘n-n after the initializationing pop of your new small funeral business, done t’ accordingly stay/get in tune with the clientry. One way’s dat dot toone, ah-who, thought they must be still from now t’all infinintentionnillity-toone, could determine to lie still a full eight hours, in the name of simple empathy, leaving no way out, and no choice, no cancel. Just in death there’s no choice, no retry, no cancel, ‘nd no way out, as the inevitable nothings roll f’ward ‘nto simply less of theirs-selves, longing to someday play-y p-p-p-piano-for-people, but never quite arriving that far. The foul effects of being within this reality rots them down, guts them out, strains to nothing them down to all gone, in their box. This is why they call it forever, my people! Like—I mean—why the hell you think it says this side toward enemy on these Claymores, soldier? A gross mistake you’ve made today, and look at the grisly results. Now; am I ill? Ha! Am I ill? Still think that, pups? Ha! Gripped g ‘n s strength of-f theirre relishionne-ions, they fatally arranged to be hammered-in so as not to give in to their devils for the whole eight hours, straight. You there? A question? Yes. Hammered-in what, Mahdi? Oh, just some holybox. Ho’ ‘ly bo’. Holybox. Like that—Herb-Ox. There you go. How’s boutcha? Get offenda’ that bouillon? That silent and sure properly made broth-soothe, with which to ensure A guy. B-bouilloninskiteen-man; in and of his—very self. (Atchoo!) He ended up hung, on his very last yesterday—gag gahh whistelty-spitt—maybe approximately five, three two one, ‘r maybe a good twenty—(phase=spirit/simple) years back. Oh, arshi na-shi narsh. Oink. So night after night became all the same—recapo recappi; into their box they went, first; then, one hundred ten nails ball-peen hammerdowned by their handyman Thaddeus; y’, hammerdowned solid tight and ball-peenly, all ‘round the full edgetop ‘bout them, each in the name of that empathy, and so, so, so. So; tightly interiorized i’ this way, they’d spend just each night; for years. In their oblong box. Like clockwork. What? Am I ill? Am I ill? Am I ill? You keep asking. Keep asking. Why you keep asking? So dense, so dense; no doubt my spaniel boils better eggs than you! ‘arshi narsh’ e’, ha! Quite unusual. But—by the late ‘gen’ Stan Potter, give thanks. Sort of. Like—petu-raggo. Okay? Okay? Okay? Okay. Plop. Fine. But so, like I tried on to say a’fore; each and every of their nightly deep coffinizations rushed up toward morning. The finish line for them, where, ah; what a God-damned relief, yes, and; always the same returned handyman Thaddeus. Came ripping o’the solidly driven nails, out-yanking them swiftly, one by one. Snot. Ha! Soup. Sorry, but heavy water’s sold out hours back. Try the big chief general store and rent-a-closet center cross town. They’re nearly as potent there. And with fewer side effects. But, to our young couple. Each morning the comfort. Oh, yes. Ahhhh! Always, as promised; the comfort of escape; the inrush of onrushing air—so sweet! Sorry. Sorry. Oh, yes. Those sloping shoulders will get you rejected. Don’t even bother. Sure, sure. There is no use. Petnio. Sorry, so sorry. What? Peio. There. We all right now? Good—ought to ought to ought to be decades of repeatedly mournful customer families—good. C. How to Fail the Small Funeral Business – Stage One But as for them; they had no idea a day would come when ‘fter nailing, their fast-flailing Thaddeus, down in his cellar, would work some few hours knotting a big fat self-hanging rope. Sometimes he simply liked the way it smelled. And by God, he used it, too—before his next actual morning! And so there they lay—stuck. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Who me oh sure, must be—deaf-ceteria next few ‘rs of dying and go figgur’—sort of like—trapped? Now how many things can that mean, stupid? Spit! And those there butts how of why realtor got them and under it all dug to us. Rock-Ball. Obey Vader’s rule: steer for your crash elegantly; become a legend. But anyway. That was the end of the both of them together—but—what’s that? A question—there? What the hell is a—Rock-Ball? Huh? Am I ill? Ha! Bland-sockery’s all. Outside of that much, you’ll fail to get it. So be dump’d. Hoist, hoist etuniop tupeoin whoosh, down, and like that be totally dump’d. There that like all th’ other watra goesh; and! Chicken’d-la-la-noodley! Ho! Am I ill? My word, how do you mean? Of course my skull-size is nonadjustable! It is some silly modern epidemic! Ha! How’d you not know that? How twisty! Oh, how twisty! Oh, of course! Oh my! How’d you not know? Hey, look, wow; your condition is non-diagnosible. Which is totally worse. One shortcoming after another. Silly me. We ought have taken the right fork nine miles back. D’yah think? Yah back-hind those bushies. Oh. of course. Those ones you said looked funny. The ones with the tall red spikies. The ones with which you distracted me into tipping the wrong corner. Therefore its your fault we arrive thisly not thus. Spanng! Uh’ should have seen that much sooner. But; you do still want to buy one? Here? How? Oh—they still sell them here? Sey ouy yllaer od’! Wow, sweet. (pump harder please, skipper! Here comes the finish line) (puk) Free frames today if you purchase three. The big ones, too. In stock now. Those rare big ones. Back up, come forward, and this time make (puk) sense (puk puk) puk pu’ p’ make sense, please! But then better snap-fast! (bow deeply) Ha! The roar of the ‘s the roar of the cr’ d’ ‘rowd iarshn compels you sweet (and introducing (in flowy fancy whack-cursive)) yonder Lil’ Jimmy, the Jesusian—prune! Applause! Applause! He’s back hot from Big College! Wow! Big College! Ha! Ha! Yah really quite big! Hah! Really? Ca’ u pinch me u’ ‘y snit? Off Corsica! Off Corsica! Off Corsica! We think we doobi’ gat it, so. (lets talk about something else) D. How to Fail the Small Funeral Business – Stage Two <poundya yo-yo> <time> <time> Bland-mash. Yasso, Mom Dearsides (unless improperly drained). Results will be unpredictable, Captain. Oh, of course. So, given that; do you still intend to finally sail away? Yes, do. Bland-mash. Bland-mash. Yes, do. Bland-mash. Yes, do, bash-bosh, whoooooooooooooooo! O. Yes bash-bosh ‘n fully reversable lung les’, that lay in their circumferential dance of fat death, hop-stance, ‘n waiting, ‘n waiting up curve, Hey, it is quite late. Don’t you think it is, Donald (if in face one or both o’ them are/is legally named Donald) prohedulahla? Swallong start down shortswall, es ess; inside their boxes panic more panic panic panic panic and panic and pa’ic and an’ and panic d’ ‘nd ‘anic and ‘e ‘nic pan’ ‘nd ‘ani’ a’ ‘ic ‘n’ p’ and ‘a’ a’ ‘ic ‘c nd ‘cc d ‘’ ‘nd and sev’ panic hours’ and panic fear worth of and hours wheeze ‘heez’ ‘ee’ nyuk-no, and; <>=no sue thee lay there in-boxed rot and wilt and quiet and more; more of t’ ‘e same rot and wilt and more and more ‘til; and all just because their tops could not be opened. For want of a bash, their sledges silent forever (send more cops) eh, Michael Tackuella-Pluck? Can you tell us where have they gone, they just walked away, duh? Did you see? And so and so and, he—stated plain; do not rely on no overbuilt suicide diver for your ever living ever alive life as we all look forward to; with a the successful small funeral business running the simultaneously successful shining railtracks beside you both, to boot. Boot, hevryshing nendz somisdays, not? Eh, Nancy? Okay. Oh of course. Then, steered that we (ae) should’n shall go. By Heaven’s slap-sliver! B’wow! That’s my daw-wog my big terrier that’s my daw-wog my big terrier his nooso see his big wet cold nooso, he y a o I ‘errier oos see ‘ow it crumbles; the future crumbles; when you do it that way, Smee? He do enjoy eating bland-mash. How fortunate! What? O oo. He do enjoy eating bland-mash. How fortunate! But—turns out, it was just a story. Weak one at that. So no one came desiring to buy. So? Oh of course. Just kick in more swag. Course of, oh! Ruck-ruck-ruck, sackies. Oh, but of course we snuck in fast, bid down cheap, and; snapped this plash up in a flash. Yes? Who? Mantis? Okay. h-h-h-h-hold it, hold; wait, Petunia. This is against the law. Crap! <Oh>! <oH>? <OH>!? <oh>?! N-rshi na-shi nar-hi, plain prisoner, maybe—hold it! Hold what? Ne nier. What’s that? That get up? In where and in where and in what hell it is? Niest iest ier ie I ihsran=narshu <plain> My hippo! My sweet! I been looking for you, where oh where, get up, damned hell ‘lla hell up! I been beating down bushes beating fla’ busheezies you could have called why didn’t you call eh eh eh I couldn’t call well, I , ieeee, there’s really no reason but I wish I’d never met you pal! But. Well you did meet me, and that’s that, so, now you owe me no father no no mother no no they I should owe and I don’t so what the hell hillo la hillie’d you have to do with bringing all these me’s myselves and I’s about—honey! The darkened box cleared and in there they. Were—dead as this here bent nail. They were pan’ no I don’t ‘nd ‘ani’ a’ ‘ic ‘n’ want to dissolve but p’ and ‘a’ a’ ‘ic ‘c nd ‘cc d ‘’ ‘nd I think I am yes and sev’ panic hours’ I felt I was dissolved ‘n panic fear worth of and hours wheeze ‘heez’ ‘ee’ nyuk-no, dissolve an’ ‘issiolv’ a’ ‘ssiol’ ssiol ssiol sio less sio’ll gone up down empty damned too quiet of a commercially entombed entombment place-named real place. Hot giggitry! <time> <time> <time> E. After Failing the Small Funeral Business Let me tell you straight, come on, sit here—here. After yes after all yes all after all. Here. Let’s start at your front. After no after all no all, after all dis dat udderly preshious docker-degree nailed over wall after wall after. Sheepskins for sheep! la la la ! Duke! Problem! No, say you’ll reply will you how know I bet I and asked first than time your of more much so up give to you of great so s’ it. Here is the card of a Doctor Nebulette. Grand at loss counseling. Gok. Goodbye. Chest problem? Try hot water. The very use of her wicked millionaire’s likely got you and yours strained all the way down. Hey. We’re all human. <learn> <learn> <learn> Thank you, Doctor, for taking time to come speak to us today. You’re welcome. Good-bye—and may you enjoy a profitable day.
Essay from Jaylan Salah
Love and Belonging in John Crowley’s Brooklyn By Jaylan Salah Home is where the heart lies. Does this saying have any truth to it? “You’re homesick, that’s all. Everybody gets it. But it passes. In some, it passes more quickly than in others. There’s nothing harder than it. And the rule is to have someone to talk to and to keep busy.” - Brooklyn, Colm Tóibín (novel) “Homesickness is like most sicknesses; it’ll make you feel wretched and then move on to somebody else”. - Brooklyn, Nick Hornby (script) Isn’t cinema just powerful? I watched “Brooklyn” directed by John Crowley before reading the novel written by Colm Tóibín. The novel fleshed out what it feels like to be Eilis, an immigrant Irish girl in 1950s America, but the film masterfully captured how it feels to be Eilis without giving it all away. Proof? Compare the two quotations above. They belong to the same character, Father Flood, as he speaks to Eilis when homesickness is gnawing at her fragile frame, haunting her days and leaving her a tearful mess. In the film, the power of his single sentence stems from the lack of resolution or relief. Unlike in the novel, he doesn’t give sound advice. He just tells her she is in bad shape, yet it will pass. He doesn’t give her any clue as to how or when. Contrary to common belief, “Brooklyn” is no sweet, sappy romance. It is not an ode to the power of love and how it conquers in the end. “Brooklyn” is one scary film, a meditation on the idea of home, love, death, and moving on. It would be relatively easy to throw Eilis’ final choice on the beautiful reminiscence that love wins. But it’s not. “Brooklyn” is a film that paves to the power of individuality. Like most viewers, I got into it waiting for something bittersweet to fondle my nerves and leave me a puddle of goo by the end credits. I never thought that I would cry for reasons very foreign to what I previously had in mind. Dare I say “Brooklyn” is an existential movie? In my book, it is. Before anybody attacks, let me explain why. According to American director and actor Cameron McHarg, this existential movie deals with man’s search for meaning in an absurd world. It highlights a personal struggle in a meaningless world that doesn’t provide answers or even steps to follow. The viewer is on their own, literally and metaphorically, but expected to reach some sort of explanation by the end. All of the films that I’ve come across labeled as “existential” starred existentialist male leads. Not a single one had a woman in the center. Enter Brooklyn, where it’s all about the female protagonist Eilis and her sense of identity, struggles, and attempts to find the self in two seemingly different worlds. Eilis leaves her hometown in search of a better opportunity. She gets it, not in the form of a job as an accountant but in the form of a young, handsome Italian chap who sweeps her off her feet and presents a sense of the very elusive thing she has been searching for: home. In a film that plays on themes of home and love, Brooklyn deconstructs them as it builds up to them. One moment Eilis falls in love with Tony and believes she has found her home. Viewers think that Brooklyn is where her heart lies. A family tragedy forces her to go back to Enniscorthy, Ireland, and puts viewers in the shoes of the doubtful Eilis as she is lured back into her old life but with a different scheme. This time she is treated like a conqueror back from America, not the modest, simple girl constantly abandoned on the dance floor. Whereas Tony’s love for Eilis seems solid, her love for him is uncertain, driven by her insecurity and loneliness. In the end, viewers ponder that had things taken a different direction, would Eilis have gone back to Brooklyn? Which does she consider home? Is there such a thing as home in the first place? What about love? The position of women in a time when they didn’t have a lot; either happily married, depressed, or unmarried didn’t leave much for the imagination. How would that woman find love in her own free will when singlehood would mean sharing a toilet with another miserable divorcée who dreamed of a husband to have a toilet of her own? The film asks questions yet never gives us answers. What is home? Is it an actual place where a person belongs? Would we consider a place a “home” because of the people who live there, or is it just that it carries certain sacredness beyond our earthly perception? The power of Brooklyn is in its ability to deconstruct every principle that it slowly builds for in the first half of the film. It reflects on free will and how far we as humans would go to seek shelter in the most ordinary of places, among ordinary people. Eilis’ transition was palpable and honest, yet it was also confusing and shaky. That’s what made her a great character. The strength in “Brooklyn” comes from the uncertainty and the absurdity by which Nick Hornby’s script, John Crowley’s directing, Yves Bélanger’s cinematography, and Saoirse Ronan’s acting handled the material. This young woman’s existential crisis resolves but doesn’t leave viewers with a sweet ending. It gets them to think, “Really? Did she do that because she loved him?” and also, “Is this really what she considers home?” “Is that where her heart lies?”
Mixed media from Jeff Crouch and Diana Magallon
Poetry from Michael Ceraolo
A Matter of Scale
One side of the stage shows a MAN dressed in whatever clothing will connote poverty to the audience. The other side of the stage has a conference table and plush chairs with FOUR or FIVE PEOPLE in the day's business attire.
A few minutes of pantomime: the shabbily-dressed MAN is obviously begging; he is ignored or pushed aside by passersby, perhaps even arrested. The FOUR or FIVE are conducting negotiations: one will be handed a pen and sign an agreement, after which handshakes all around.
Voice (from dark center stage):
As it was in the beginning,
it is now, and shall ever be:
Panhandle for a few bucks,
you're a bum
Panhandle for a few hundred million,
you're a civic leader
(LIghts go down.)
THE END
The Last Word
Upstage L, a casket with mourners crying. Downstage R, a MAN preparing to speak of the deceased.
MAN: He was a liar, a cheat, a bully,
who made life difficult for those of us
who worked under him;
we were partially consoled by the thought
that most of us would outlive him
For those of us who did, he got us again,
dying in December to deliberately
thwart those of us who were
planning to piss on his grave
(Lights go down.)
THE END
For What It's Worth
A school anywhere in the United States, action to be demonstrated wordlessly as NARRATOR speaks.
NARRATOR (can be onstage or off):
There's something happening here
What it is is quite crystal clear
There's a kid with a gun over there
Who wants to do more than just scare
Once started he won't stop
Children, hear that sound
Everybody knows what's going down
The battle lines have been drawn
And the spree won't take very long
Bullets strike some very deep,
sending them to permanent sleep
Thoughts and prayers, I'm afraid,
won't make this sad day go away
Again and again that sound
Everybody knows what's going down
(Repeat last two lines at least twice)
(Lights go down.)
THE END
The History Game Show (Episode 2)
Setting: Two tables with four chairs each, one on each side of the stage, set at enough of an angle so that each chair is at least partially facing the audience. These two tables will be lit from the start of the play; center stage will be dark.
Cast of Characters:
MAN, whose identity will not be revealed until the end of the play
And tonight's show is
TO TELL THE TRUTH
MAN (speaking from dark center stage):
"It is conducted
for the benefit of the very few
at the expense of the very many",
"a racket . . . possibly the oldest,
easily the most profitable,
surely the most vicious"
"I helped purify Nicaragua
for the international banking house
of Brown Brothers
in 1909-1912
I brought light to the Dominican Republic
for American sugar interests in 1916
In China I helped to see to it
that Standard Oil went its way unmolested"
There are other instances I could give,
but I think these three will suffice
"Looking back on it, I feel
I might have given Al Capone a few hints
The best he could do was to
operate his racket in three city districts
We Marines operated on three CONTINENTS"
"In short,
I was a racketeer,
a gangster for capitalism"
This is the point in the old show where the four panelists would try to guess which of the four contestants was the real person whose achievements had been cited. If you are the one in a million who correctly guessed my identity, give yourself a prize.
(Lights go off the tables, come up on center stage, revealing the MAN
I am Smedley Butler,
once a Major General, USMC
(Lights go down.)
THE END
The History Game Show (Episode 5)
And tonight's show is
WHAT'S MY LINE?
(GUEST walks to the chalkboard, signs the name THOMAS MIDGLEY, and then sits next to the HOST.)
HOST: Are you ready, panel? (murmurs of yes from the panelists.)
PANELIST #1: Are you well-known to the general public?
MIDGLEY: No
PANELIST #2: Were you involved in the arts in any capacity?
MIDGLEY: No
PANELIST #3: Were you involved in what is today called STEM?
MIDGLEY: Yes
PANELIST #3: Were you involved in the Science part of that?
MIDGLEY (after quick consultation with the HOST): No
PANELIST #4: Were you involved with the Math part?
MIDGLEY looks at the HOST, who then answers for him.
Math was involved but not as the primary part,
so the answer has to be No.
PANELIST #1: Well, now I've got a fifty-fifty chance (chuckles from audience)
PANELIST #4: I'm betting he gets it wrong
No takers on that bet?
See the confidence people have in you
PANELIST#1: Were you involved in the Technology part?
MIDGLEY: No
PANELIST #4: I'm betting the next panelist gets it right
Again no takers
PANELIST #2: Were you involved in the Engineering part?
MIDGLEY: Yes
PANELIST #2: Were you involved in the building of bridges or roads?
MIDGLEY: No
PANELIST #3: Were you involved in the building of buildings?
MIDGLEY: No
PANELIST #4: Did you hold any patents?
MIDGLEY: Yes
PANELIST #4: I believe Mr. Midgley
is known as an inventor
HOST: That is correct
Mr. Midgley was known as an inventor
(Lights go down on everyone but the HOST, who continues speaking.)
That was his claim to fame during his lifetime,
and he was much honored by his peers
But during the decades after his death
his two most famous inventions,
leaded gasoline and chlorofluorocarbons,
continued to inflict untold damage
upon planet and people
He has been called
"a one-man environmental disaster"
but even that understates his impact
He can legitimately be called
the most destructive individual
of the twentieth century
(Lights dim.)
THE END
Michael Ceraolo is a 64-year-old retired firefighter/paramedic and active poet who has had two full-length poetry books published (Euclid Creek, from Deep Cleveland Press; 500 Cleveland Haiku, from Writing Knights Press), and has two more full-length books in the publication pipeline.
Artwork from Mark Young
Poetry from Ubali Ibrahim Hashimu
C H A O S Tell me please... If those miscreants buzzing around The ears. Has peace come to an end? Are they the only dishes to serve people their freshly breakfast? When will they sing a song of no-more and Wave a hand of no return to this infidelity? Tell those gila-monsters, those wicked lions That bore horrible teeth in their tragic that Their lives will perish away like an atom In the whirlwind of desert when breeze in the Atmosphere hits the jackpot of peace. Tell me... Who would we bear on shoulders again? Is it the giant whales flapping in pools of Our wealth or the broken pieces of peace Bloodly lying in every nook & cranny of the street? I say this is not the faults of violence: But a burning fire fueled by those With great power in their hands and Soaked people's minds in bowls of Deceptions and cups of woeful wonders. With love and peace, no way for violence.
Poetry from J.J. Campbell
------------------------------------------------------------------------------- remember to laugh laugh sometimes all you can do is laugh plans change something comes up lines of communication get neglected along the way today is one of those days where i need to remember to laugh especially when the nurses tell my mother she's an hour early for her procedure somewhere between the paperwork and a phone call the time change was lost laugh, remember to laugh there will always be plenty of time for revenge later ---------------------------------------------------------- in any traditional sense of the word never fall in love with a woman that wants to stick a dildo in your ass she is incapable of loving you in any traditional sense of the word never fall in love with a woman who thinks she is a dominatrix but is unwilling to let the world in on the secret never fall in love with a woman who puts money over everything friendship, quiet moments alone, even god never fall in love with a woman who still seeks the privilege of being an only child well into her thirties never fall in love with a woman more than two states away from you the distance will be too much for some to be able to handle in a moment of crisis ------------------------------------------------------ still like the taste i think my imagination is still in its early twenties everyone is still naked and ready the drugs still have a good kick and i still like the taste sadly, the body and mind haven't kept up the pace --------------------------------------------------------- violent in my dreams i often wonder about my death it has always been violent in my dreams something tragic or brutal in the daylight i'd love to die in my sleep simply fade to black my luck, it will be upon insertion in some unlucky woman the poetic way would be mid-sentence, right as the devil starts to... -------------------------------------------------------------- a really short drive to crazy i have always known it is a really short drive to crazy like maybe down the block or around a fucking corner it has been that way since i was a child they always told me i was gifted i read too much and knew that was a kind way of saying someone could be really fucking crazy i preferred savant but that was my ego always speaking up at the wrong fucking time i was the type that never had homework and could be seen smoking cigarettes with the homeless on the weekends while writing poems with a bottle of cheap wine about even cheaper women i look around this room and see the cigarettes are gone because of a lack of funds the wine is now a glass of scotch and the women are still cheap imaginary has some benefits --------------------------------------------------