Unpublishable: The Gay Science

Evan Lavender-Smith


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I wrote “The Gay Science” around the time of the Obama-Romney debates,  I think, so sometime in late 2012. Although I didn’t have a Twitter account at the time, I remember occasionally looking at people’s tweets and imagining the sorts of things I might tweet, as well as the sorts of things I would be reluctant to tweet, as well as the sorts of things I would never in a million years tweet. I began imagining a writer-character living in what I like to call the “idgaf stance,” just giving zero shits about what people think of her writing. I imagined her as either a poet or someone with aspirations to be a poet; as someone who is by turns funny, crass, despairing, boastful, vulnerable, lost, found.

At the same time I was rereading Nietzsche’s The Gay Science, maybe my favorite of his books, and I imagined the possibility of this same character feeling under the gun or on a clock with respect to doing a kind of post-millennial writing-through of Nietzsche’s book while under linguistic constraints similar to that of Twitter, her haste perhaps occasioned by a sense of imminent suicide or apocalypse. I can’t necessarily trace direct lines between what this character is up to and what Nietzsche was up to — many of the correspondences are associative beyond recognition; totally random lines from Nietzsche prompting her own writing — but I can still see some similarities among their thought in relation to power, morality, religion and art.

I read this thing now and I’m not sure what to think of it. When I wrote it, I believe I was trying to imagine it as a synthesis or a sort of reconciliation of some of the formal concerns of my first two books, From Old Notebooks and Avatar. I read it today and I both like and dislike it. I find some of it to be funny, some of it to be banal, some of it to be offensive, some of it to be dated and irrelevant in the face of both our contemporary political moment and the ongoing linguistic evolution driven by the internet and social media. I do still appreciate the idea of someone in the distant future sifting and sorting through the gazillions of terabytes of our 21st-century digital dumping grounds and stumbling upon something strangely purposeful or strangely beautiful, perhaps something that no one was able to see during its moment of composition or original unfolding due to all the digital noise surrounding it — the found-document quality of the thing. The entry I probably like best here is the one in which she asks, “Which lucky distant-future archaeologist will find my username and password buried in the sand?”

– Evan Lavender-Smith, February 2018







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/to the poet, to the philosopher, to the saint, all things are friendly & sacred, all events profitable, all days holy, all men divine/ —RWE


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the purpose of life is to … LMFAO


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A: Why u drop a 10 spot on that bum? B: Bc he’s hungry. A: Aint u got no ones? B: He’s a bum not a stripper.


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when julian assange auditioned for powder the casting director said put on some blush


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obama’s suits = jcpenney bespoke


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Her grandfather could never double-click for shit, she reminisced, but he always triple- and quadruple-clicked like a pro.


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The Cambridge History of Social Media Anxiety Disorder, Vol. 1. The Cambridge History of Apple Hardware Refreshes, Vol. 1.


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God, looking up from His microscope: “Oops, confused the slides again. Hon, check the trash and see if there’s one in there called Earth?”


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yesterday, merely gibberish … tomorrow, merely canonical … today, my poemz are nothing more or less than /the spirit of an age/


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gimme 1 a those cute lil ethnic #s w big eyes. hold the consciousness, plz. wait … r we allowed 2 substitute consciousness 4 a cute tail?


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Will her redesign of add-to-cart.jpg result in their greater pleasure, webmaster wonders, or their greater pain?


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“It’s time to spice up my life,” she announces resolutely, “time to totally rethink my kitten avatar.”


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Need more followers, need more fanboys, need more friends. Have poemz aplenty tho.


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She stepped away to gain some perspective, tripped over throng of fanboys crouching on the sidelines, fractured her tailbone.


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Q: Is that ur real face or iPad? A: Real face.


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The author wishes to ask the reader that she willfully reinterpret the poem’s slightness as grandeur, its vulgarity as beatitude, its shitti


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I am proud to call you my friend, prouder to call you my follower, proudest to call you my slave.


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can’t type on phone, thumbnails too long. can’t clip thumbnails, typing on phone.


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www has lost its revolutionary appeal. new revolutionary calls somebody up, meets ppl 4 lunch, takes walk, takes bath, sleeps, dreams


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“Is she dead, I wonder, or has she simply logged out?”


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any poem >140 characters will be drawn and quartered until such time as its mangled poetic torso weighs in at <141


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—u never talk 2 me! —THATS ME —u look @ www all day! —THATS ME —u never put dishes in sink! —THATS ME —u alwayTHATS ME THATS ME THATS ME THA


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Herd reads 2girls1cup.mov thus: “It can’t be real!” Ubermensch thus: “THE TRUTH HAS BEEN REVEALED”


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She finally took the time to reexamine her life  … and spent the entire morning staring blankly at her wall.


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ebayed iphone, ipad & laptop, removed wifi card from desktop, cut ethernet cord w scissors … dismembered, she is wingless


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The value of a single human life shall be measured according to the total number of followers accumulated.


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Jony Ive accepted my friend request only after I sent him pics of iPad and me in a /compromising position/


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sniped huge lot of eyelashes & toenail clippings w only 2 sec remaining!!!!


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DM: “ur poemz so good!! plz show me how make poemz like u!”


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Which lucky distant-future archaeologist will find my username and password buried in the sand?


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DM, “u a evil witch, ur shit poemz must burn.” 2 which, “they do! aloe, witchhazel, prep h, myrrh, vaseline—tried all to no avail”


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Steve Jobs’ last words: “I’ve always been wary of entrusting the etrenal care of my soul to beta technologies … haven’t u, Jony?”


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Learning that www was originally a form of communications technology, future schoolchildren: “01110111 01110100 01100110?” (“WTF?”)


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apparently one of my poemz sparked revolution in Tunisia, not sure which one tho … plz dm me if u know


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prudent decision to purchase applecare+ plan, for her ipad was shorted out from drool by end of week one


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Ur poemz should b lil jokey experiments. 🙂 poems = good. 4 u cant realistically expect ppl 2 frown at poemz these dayz. 🙁 poems = bad.


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Poet shall receive no $ compensation for publication. Compensation shall consist solely of publication’s 🙂 benefit to poet.


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“omg finally found charging station for phone near occupy protest! omg u wont believe how chockful of shareable content my phone is now!”


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Not sure what 2 do w past-gen apple devices cramming up those desk drawers? Thnxgiving fast approaches! Easy recipe ideas at epicurious.com


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Logged on to find everything blurry. Went on hike instead, discovered source of www blurriness in mountain cave: a lizard had lost its tail.


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Internet is the maudlin soundtrack accompanying her impassioned suicide scene.


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Pain and suffering now streaming live in 1080p


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I haven’t the courage to be truthful, only flippant. But for every 100 flip poemz, 1 or 2 may acccidentally come true.


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This is a good pic, she remarked, of what her boss’s eyeballs might look like if he ever googled her.


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friend me if evil poemz get u hot


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upon login, must read & reread last 30 or so poemz before thoroughly convinced of her continued existence


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“That is not poetry! That is the opposite of poetry, the debasement of poetry!” 2 which, “Hellloooooooo, canon!”


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maybe we’ve gotten it all wrong, maybe these r real connections, real friends … yes & maybe our flatulence were simian, winged …


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If u show www to a caveman he wouldn’t know where to click. —Will u plz stop reading my poemz w ur bleary ass caveman eyes?


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It’s a poem./ What constitutes the poem is irrelevant./ It’s a poem./ What constitutes the poem is irrelevant./ It’s a poem. /What constitut


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dm from LUVERMAN81 requesting meeting in the flesh … farted in bluetooth, signed yrs trly …


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Are those treetops & mountaintops peeking out at the horizon? And over there, is that the sea?! —dunno, download camera+ app it has zoom


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all I want is her friendship. —& the friendship of all her friends. —& her friends’ friends. —& her friends’ friends’ friends’ friends’ frie


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“Troll harder!” she commands of her trolls. “Troll me like your life depends on it!” —For it’s the only way she knows how to feel loved.


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current fav pandora station: contemporary suicidal


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every time i sit down 2 write a profound poem, this is what happens


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poemz little windows thru which reader disambiguates my soul. Q to reader: how many fingers is my soul holding up at u?


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thnx 4 frenemying me


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my poemz make u hot bc they so different from each other, u cant get enuf, u such a slut 4 my changing up styles


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latent threat of wife castrating husband while he sleeps. —thingsthatkeeptheworldturning


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DM, “i dont believe ur a woman.u a dood pretnding to b a chic.” 2 which, “bitch, all im pretnending to be is a poet.”


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Sister, can u spare some RU486?


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“Latest poem born wretched, misshapen, w/out life enough to die.” “Omg what did u do?” “Online lit journal agreed to dispose of it for me.”


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DM, “ur so vulgar, b a lady then we’ll fuckk.” 2 which, “dear fanboy, tell me its not true! it was all erotolalia, written jsut 4u!”


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DM, “i bet ur so ugly irl.” 2 which, “really hard to imagine things any uglier/realer than this. thnx for poem idea tho”


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fine, whatever, not real poetry. but can we at least agree that this is the future of poetry?


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“My vlugarity is not 4 ur sake, dearr fannboyy, its 4 the sake of the wrold at larfge.”


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cast ur gaze intently upon these poemz not 2 glimpse an image of myself, dear fanboy, but of thine self


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Perhaps the fame/value of any given poet is proportionate to the intrigue of her typos.


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the poet must always hold her mirror up 2 nature, i.e. up 2 www


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DM, “my big gripe w/ ur poemz = theyr not true, merely silly.” 2 which, “my big gripe w/ ur poems = theyr not silly, merely true.”


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& thus the old guard was finally trampled under the emoticons of progress


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I take a bit of this & a bit of that & mix it all around & out comes the poetry, easiets thing in the world


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“doesnt matter what u say, only matters that u say it well, employing strong typos & usage errors & postmillennial shorthand & cuss words”


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I am not the first to appraise the social network’s poetic value. But I may be the first to sing of it with such conflicted passion.


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Weary business exec logs on. Will he read my poemz or watch some porn? How fares the balm of verse contra the elixir of cum-hungry milfs?


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My muse travelled halfway across the universe and all she brought me back was this lousy poem idea.


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ok, enough, time 2 be SERIOUS, gimme that iPad … ok, enough, time 2 be SILLY, gimme that iPad … ok, enough, time 2 be SERIOUS, gimme that iPad …


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poemz = thoughtful lil care packages i send the onanist along her solitary travels


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some of ur poemz will b poemz of illumination & some, poemz of obscurity … yet all, illum & obscr alike, shd b formatted 4 mobile viewing


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<141 chars is the sublime & severe form into which u must press ur hopes & dreams & fears. h&d&fs requiring >140 do not blong in poetry.


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Think of ur poems as flanking maneuvers, ambushes, sieges, disinformation campaigns, circumvalations, frontal assaults, blitzkriegs. 🙂


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DM, “why do u write poemz?” 2 which, “life is full of shit. poemz as laxatives etc.”


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distant-future literary critics find my poemz on a fossilized harddrive, a discovery so vital to their understanding of what went wrong


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when in a blue mood or brown study, just load up some pink ringtones on ur phone & soon life will be all good again


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A: If earnest, maybe I’ll finally reach her. B: If ironic, maybe I’ll finally reach her. C: Give it up, u 2, she’s in an internet k-hole


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“All u do is talk shit. talking shit & writing poemz r 1 & the same 2 u,” to which I replied not, dear fanboy, in silent awe of ur insight.


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“Why did the accused hold poetry in such contempt, all the while calling herself a poet?” —“Because she was NOT ALL THERE, that’s why.”


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initially seduced by their wit & typos, only after centuries of study did they come to appreciate the nonpareil /uselessness/ of her poemz


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“I just wanna say thnx, ur poemz saved my life,” 2 which, “ok glad 2hear it plz mail canned food donatoisn at earielst convneicesne.”


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/Compelet Poemz/: her whole ouevre now available on usb stick for only $1.99 + shipping


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no story to our narrative, no sense to our poemz, no melody to our music … just bitches w brains & devices volleying obloquies


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“didn’t mean to offend, was only trying 2 encaspulate soul of www in a few well-chosen words”


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if 1 exclmation pt, author is square/ironic; if 2, author hipster/mistyped; if 3, square/ironic; if 4, hipster/mistyped; if 5+, oh plz grl


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Neither the typo nor the postmillenial abbreviation nor the emoticon may be refuted, stylistically. —MY STYLE B POWERFULL, YOURS B BUTT.


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“what keeps u goin? why not end it once & 4 all?” —bc there’s always another poem to write, always another laugh or shit or piss to be had


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DM from god, “u wrote ‘God’s dead … j/k.’ so 2 demerit pts 4u.” 2 which, “enuf w the pedantry already, deadass motherufcksr … j/k.”


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Head: “Lossy digital compression of still image sequence.” Heart: “Writhing naked bodies.”


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Genealogy of sex. —Caveman 2 sees Caveman 1 rape Cavewoman 1 … Caveman 2 rapes Cavewoman 2 … Caveman 3 sees Caveman 2 rape Cavewoman 2 …


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pull lever, biscuit appears … pull lever, biscuit appears … pull lever, palestinian explodes … pull lever, biscuit appears …


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… distinction btwn poet and pharmacist became confused … booksellers required prescriptions … walgreens stocked used flu shots …


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1) She accidentally clicked her way to child pornography again. 2) Her heart accidentally beat again.


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Fingers fluttering lightly, nimbly across keys … researching promising porntubes with agile discernment & terpsichorean grace.


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rose from bed: hit ok to confirm deletion of late bff’s digitized soul. returned to bed: slept, dreamt of sea.


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Friendliness is the new loneliness (loneliness = so 80s/early 90s): “I’m feeling depressed, isolated. I should really unfriend some folks.”


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At first she resisted total wireless immersion: “No escape!” Now, when out of range, she panics, freaks: “No escape!”


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i wanna adjust my defualt settings 2 ur default likings, i wanna b a defaulat function of u


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Googled “phone plans”: her children’s faces became verizon adverts. Googled “break at&t contract”: faces reappeared.


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No more infosuperhighway, no more wififree countryroads. Must find newway: earthenclay iPad, silicon shadetree, hardearned doubtfaith.


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“Forgive me, Father, 4 I have sinned. I was sexting in the pew.”


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bluetooth-enabled rosary syncs your prayers with the cloud


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liveblogged my Sims all-nighter. fav comment: “gods got nuttin on u girl!”


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The DM was “sent” because I “hit enter.” What a naive formulation! Perhaps 1 in 10,000,000 people can properly articulate what occurred.


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1) I need to text my bff. 2) I text my bff. —Can the nature of human will really be as simple and straightforward as this?


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I pray on the john & on the john alone, for it’s only then that I’m 100% certain He’s listening.


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DM, “Do u folow the teachinsg of JESUS?” 2 which, “Did, but unfriended Him when He started posting those lame-ass proverbs on His wall.”


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They invented apocalypse & its necessary conditions, & thus the conditions and apocalypse came to pass.


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her deathday will be a special day, like christmas, like her bday … butterflies in her tummy, pit-a-pat of feet in the hallway …


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ29777Σ ΤƔΣ132

main reason i left church is cuz i hate the way it smells in there. u pious fucks ever hear of febreze??


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ30002Σ ΤƔΣ133

In 101,423 AD, ppl finally forgot what AD referred to—After Digitization? Already Dead? Asinine Dating?—and reset the calendar to 0 BS.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ30228Σ ΤƔΣ134

The cynicism and conservatism of the US voting populace was later traced to the influence of a toxic chemical compound found in Big Macs.


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“Sorry, I thought it wd make U happy if I sinned,” 2 which God, “No, sin is bad,” 2 which I, “Have U tried it lately, tho? It’s hella fun”


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Developmental spirituality. —When young, her older brother told her that rain was God peeing, whenever He felt she deserved to be peed upon.


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“Father, I watch porn every day.” “My child, if in 1080p, then 3 Our Fathers & 2 Hail Marys per day. If in 720p/1080i, then 2 OFs & 1 HM.”


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I fear that God and His Son, Simon Cowell, will judge me harshly. America, plz text ur vote 4 my soul’s eternal salvation.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ31807Σ ΤƔΣ141

“I luv u.” God: “Not enough.” “I luv u so much.” God: “Not enough.” “I luv u so*10 much.” God: “Not enough.” “I luv u so*100 much.” God: “No


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ32033Σ ΤƔΣ142

Texted bomb scare to priest, interrupting his sermon. Priest looked up from phone, intoned to congregation, “Wonderful news, my lambs!”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ32258Σ ΤƔΣ143

“How many gods u got mon?” “1 God.” “Only 1 god! I got Vishnu, Shiva, Ganesha, Hanuman, Lakshmi … Go back 2 sunday school, lazy Christian!”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ32484Σ ΤƔΣ144



1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ32709Σ ΤƔΣ145

french fries: this is my body. ketchup: this is my blood.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ32935Σ ΤƔΣ146

if Obama really were Osama with a face transplant, as the GOP argued, surely he would’ve changed more than just one letter in his name?


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ33161Σ ΤƔΣ147



1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ33386Σ ΤƔΣ148

nowadays basis for politcal corruption is not using public power 4 private gain, it’s texting a subordinate high-res dick pics


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ33612Σ ΤƔΣ149

tonight i call on every american: go to disneyland! go shopping! buy lottery tix! fill up ur tanks! go to mickey ds! spend indiscriminately!


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ33837Σ ΤƔΣ150

he was so devoutly religious that he felt he deserved a little break now and then. little statutory rape on an otherwise sinless sunday


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ34063Σ ΤƔΣ151

The moon: His gloryhole. The stars: prior gloryhole constructions abandoned when His conscience intervened.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ34289Σ ΤƔΣ152

“Revelation,” an augmented-reality app for mobile devices. Above each passerby’s head, graphic shows his/her realtime salvation probability.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ34514Σ ΤƔΣ153

We may have given up on God, but we have not given up on bullshit. Pray let’s give bullshit one last go before giving up altogether.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ34740Σ ΤƔΣ154

u scream thru ur feeds like they’re coded 4 disappearing e-ink; we go slow, deliberately, archeologically, like words were chiseled in stone


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ34965Σ ΤƔΣ155

we asked for delta updates & we got them & we had so much more time on our hands & what did do with it but think of what to ask for next?


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ35191Σ ΤƔΣ156

She who changes her chat status, changes the world.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ35417Σ ΤƔΣ157

She anxiously readies her post, now her cursor quivers atop Submit. For her, the fate of civilization turns on a single click.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ35642Σ ΤƔΣ158

To like everything that catches one’s fancy—that is an inconvenient trait. In discernment’s absence, a like signifies self-aggrandizement.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ35868Σ ΤƔΣ159

Never will I yield to their alarmist exhortations and forego an early upgrade, never will I squander my love on outmoded techonologies.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ36093Σ ΤƔΣ160

Leave it open source. Your perceived heroism will, in the end, net you more $$$.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ36319Σ ΤƔΣ161

A narrative old as clay. —The prior-gen should still lurk within—and the next-gen should be evoked but not spoiled by—the current design.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ36545Σ ΤƔΣ162

Her own profile: conduit of reassurance & amour propre. Her friend’s: bottleneck of castigation & self-deprecation.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ36770Σ ΤƔΣ163

The Silicon Valley CEO, bored with uniform success, deliberately errs to induce experiential variety. —For life is not all profit, he knows.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ36996Σ ΤƔΣ164

Extinguish all ambient/directional lighting. The room’s objects will be best illuminated by LCD emission alone.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ37221Σ ΤƔΣ165

One determinedly deactivates one’s account—a prudent decision—only to determinedly reactivate it months later—another prudent decision.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ37447Σ ΤƔΣ166

speak of product cycles, of shipping estimates, of trademark disputes and industry rumors—she’s all ears. speak of anything else—she’s deaf.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ37673Σ ΤƔΣ167

she gathers friends like nuts & berries, storing them up, hoarding them. for when winter arrives, her misanthropy should not go without.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ37898Σ ΤƔΣ168

bereaved family member later discovered final post by entering command-Z into browser: “too few page hits this month, cant take it anymore”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ38124Σ ΤƔΣ169

Keep ur frenemies closer. —Were it not for the early antagonism of her followers, she might never have gained such widespread public favor.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ38349Σ ΤƔΣ170

Desperate & isolated, she posts diatribe on Herdbook, referring to it as such. Post receives beaucoup likes, leaving her validated & content.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ38575Σ ΤƔΣ171

the famous r only 1 dui, 1 sex tape, 1 ugly baby, 1 rehab stint, 1 bad haircut, 1 disputed rape away from becoming the shamous


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ38801Σ ΤƔΣ172

DM, “ur vulgarity is spoiling my feed.” 2 which, “ur feed was already spoiled. my vulgarity simply revealed it.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ39026Σ ΤƔΣ173

obscurity appeal. —be a tease with meaning. they will keep coming back 4 more if u don’t give it up so easy.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ39252Σ ΤƔΣ174

obama AND romney, not obama OR romney (life AND death, not life OR death)


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ39477Σ ΤƔΣ175

The format of the debate is straightforward: whoever garners the most raucous bouts of audience applause will be declared the winner.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ39703Σ ΤƔΣ176

“that all men are created equal” “that they are well endowed by their Creator” “that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of manliness”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ39929Σ ΤƔΣ177

“maybe tell a joke about the financial crisis.” “like what?” “u know, does a securities analyst shit—poop—in the woods, that sort of thing.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ40154Σ ΤƔΣ178



1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ40380Σ ΤƔΣ179

I txt, there4 I m. —She arrives at her thoughts & feelings via her texts, not her texts via her thoughts & feelings.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ40605Σ ΤƔΣ180

“And what is a typical sunday morning like for the first family?” “Cuddles, breakfast, Netflix.” “He didn’t say church. Get the rope.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ40831Σ ΤƔΣ181

u follow me like a dog. i lead you like a handler. we trot the ring at this, our final conformation show, judged by god. u win top bitch.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ41057Σ ΤƔΣ182

Help me … Help me, friend … Friend, r u there …? But ur perennial available status and super cute avatar were always so reassuring!


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ41282Σ ΤƔΣ183

Music of the future. —Kanye w/ Strings. SFSO Presents: Rhianna. Lil Wayne in Vienna. Beyonce: The Complete Deutsche Grammophon Recordings.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ41508Σ ΤƔΣ184

live in a) perpetual war & surveillance state, or b) danger of imminent mass attack by shadowy global terroist network, or c) both a & b


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ41733Σ ΤƔΣ185

“The rich want but dont need our help, the middle class needs but doesnt want our help, the poor want/need our help but always sqaunder it.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ41959Σ ΤƔΣ186

She had work accepted by a top-tier lit journal—but she is not happy. She wants to be published in the filthiest, most DIY e-zines around.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ42185Σ ΤƔΣ187

DM, “many of ur poemz r racist, sexsits, offesnive.” 2 which, “spirit of an age, spirit of an age—how many times do I have to say it?”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ42410Σ ΤƔΣ188

Onanists of the world, unite! You have nothing to lose but your shame!


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ42636Σ ΤƔΣ189

“Who’s ur favorite philosopher?” “Jesus.” “My bad, Governor. I’d ask u to plz name someone who wrote actual books of philosophy.” “Satan?”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ42861Σ ΤƔΣ190

DM, “ur shit bloz my mind, thnx.” 2 which, “dear fanboy, i beg u, censure me, shame me, crucify me, auto-da-fé me—but plz do not praise me.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ43087Σ ΤƔΣ191

Climate science funding faces its greatest obstacle in our conviction that the scientists will spend taxpayer money on Priuses & abortions.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ43313Σ ΤƔΣ192

“I can’t believe it. He seemed such a nice, polite young man. He always liked everyone’s status updates and shared such apt cat memes.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ43538Σ ΤƔΣ193

“If he’s an American, be sure to use easy-to-understand words. And always remember to give him a high five and compliment him on his gun.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ43764Σ ΤƔΣ194



1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ43989Σ ΤƔΣ195

nature finds a way. —suspended herdbook acct, soon thereafter began receiving a dozen or so blank emails per week w subject line “like”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ44215Σ ΤƔΣ196

“but is it worth the blood of u.s. soldiers & the toil of u.s. taxpayers?” “i resent the question, senator. oil has nothing to do with it.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ44441Σ ΤƔΣ197

—its top secret. cant. —plz? —k, but dont tell al qaeda or else u.s. is gonerz. —k. can i tell bff? —k, but tell bff dont tell al qaeda.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ44666Σ ΤƔΣ198

“do not touch me, do not come near me, do not look me in the eye, do not breathe my air—just vote 4 me then crawl back under ur shitty rock”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ44892Σ ΤƔΣ199

“what a generous gift! we will survive another year! r u sure theres nothing i can get 4 u?” “thigh rub from ur asian intern wd be swell.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ45117Σ ΤƔΣ200



1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ45343Σ ΤƔΣ201

“fuck this black metal shit!” sez tank gunner 2 tank driver. handing driver cd labeled LAUGHTRACK4, gunner: “crank this shit on repeat, yo!”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ45569Σ ΤƔΣ202



1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ45794Σ ΤƔΣ203

neurodiary later revealed vast empty stretches demarcated by imperatives, e.g. “just do it, colin!” “circular tongue thrusts, condoleezza!”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ46020Σ ΤƔΣ204

Sir, can u spare a wee shred of ethernet cable? I beg of u, sir, please help us. I have 3 small children who haven’t logged on in days.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ46245Σ ΤƔΣ205

where it sez why 2 bomb it, put terrorist training facility. —but isn’t that a pre-school? —u smarter than u look, private.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ46471Σ ΤƔΣ206

“congresswoman, i’m afraid u will never convince this panel that poor ppl require as much assistance as rich ppl do. it’s just not logical.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ46697Σ ΤƔΣ207

She trolls my wall, she likes what I like, she emulates the cadences of my syntax, her sardonic profile poses mimic mine. She is my friend.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ46922Σ ΤƔΣ208

“What a truly great man he was.” —But how can you possibly know for sure, if you never once saw him without his pants and underwear on?


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ47148Σ ΤƔΣ209

Why did u decide 2 go 2 war? —Which war? —First one 4 starters. —OK, lemme think… Lil hint plz? Maybe first letter of war?


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ47373Σ ΤƔΣ210

Towelhead tried 2 kill my daddy. —Which justifies destroying a country, 100,000+ dead, trillions spent? —Towelhead tried 2 kill my daddy.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ47599Σ ΤƔΣ211



1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ47825Σ ΤƔΣ212

Here’s soul of Prez, cyrogenically preserved. —And the big purple blob in there w him? —Barney’s soul, in accordance w Prez’s final wishes.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ48050Σ ΤƔΣ213

To the rich man: Spend ample time consorting with the poor. It will serve your ego well, inflating it all the more.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ48276Σ ΤƔΣ214

U gotta have faith. —Have faith in God, in love, in man, in science … Have faith in something, 4 only then can we welcome you unreservedly.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ48501Σ ΤƔΣ215

& what did He look like? —White hair & beard, kind & squinty eyes, sorta big & round & fat, exuded jolly. —Like Santa? —Yes. Sans the red.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ48727Σ ΤƔΣ216

God told me to do it. —What’s His voice like then? —Don’t know, He texted. “I cmd u,” He texted, “2 do my biddng. Wait til 1 sec remaining.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ48953Σ ΤƔΣ217

warred 4 oil, told ppl 4 freedom … ppl now unfree, oilless … nxt time try war 4 freedom, tell ppl 4 oil … could work who knows


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ49178Σ ΤƔΣ218

country need make good bombs no plastic, little girl bones good way country make new bombs, one thing country rich in good new girl bones


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ49404Σ ΤƔΣ219

was the detainee’s depravity improved by his detention? —but i thought the point was our improvement. —of course. i withdraw the question.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ49629Σ ΤƔΣ220

The condemned man’s pleas for clemency fell on deaf ears, for the executioner’s auditory function hadn’t yet been properly calibrated


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ49855Σ ΤƔΣ221

how they would have it. —if ur a father, raise ur son to be a man. if ur a mother, raise ur daughter to be a super hot semen receptacle.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ50081Σ ΤƔΣ222

The poet tells the politician that his lies are too simple; if he wants to get elected he must work harder to obscure the truth.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ50306Σ ΤƔΣ223

If a registered voter cannot read braille, he must a) be blinded and enroll in a braille immersion program, or b) deregister.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ50532Σ ΤƔΣ224

The poet’s cat looked up from the poet’s feet to say, “Why all the haughty moral affectation, little poetaster? Be like me, just chill.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ50757Σ ΤƔΣ225

Human nature is violent; images of violence stir our nature’s passions. Attend to and acclaim humankind’s most natural creations!


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ50983Σ ΤƔΣ226

DM, “keep up the good work! we believe in u!” 2 which, “plz don’t. if u must believe, believe only in the epoch-making power of my poemz.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ51209Σ ΤƔΣ227

logoff or laptop will self-destruct in 30 sec … logoff or laptop will self-destruct in 29 sec … logoff or laptop will self-destruct in 28 se


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ51434Σ ΤƔΣ228

romney, obama … all the same … hitler, gandhi … all the same … windows 8, os x … all the same … death, life … all the same …


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ51660Σ ΤƔΣ229

“Maybe it is total bullshit, congresswoman, as you say. But is that really reason enough for me to question my resolute faith in it?”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ51885Σ ΤƔΣ230

She who feels obliged to post self-congratulatory status updates will never persuade the world of her real worth.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ52111Σ ΤƔΣ231

idiot: “genius requires hard work.” genius: “not for me it doesn’t.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ52337Σ ΤƔΣ232

“i had the most interesting dream. it concerned—” “stop, i implore you. i’d prefer to hear the most mundane episode from your waking life.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ52562Σ ΤƔΣ233

a butterfly flaps its wings in brazil, steve jobs invents the soul in cupertino, i think i just farted in cyberspace


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ52788Σ ΤƔΣ234

key events in the narrative of her emotional existence were indexed to key alterations in her syntax & pronouns & typos & capitalization


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ53013Σ ΤƔΣ235

shd I portray myself as a character in a narrative or as the spirit of an age? reply now & 1 lucky random follower will get publicly shamed


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ53239Σ ΤƔΣ236

he’s way nicer than u think, all u know is his virtual persona. —he’s a vitural dick but an irl softie.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ53465Σ ΤƔΣ237

So considerate. —She always carried a couple-few biscuits in her back pocket in case she happened upon the hounds of hell.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ53690Σ ΤƔΣ238

But of course she’s not envious of their success, for she would never consider it such … their poems are published on paper … with ink …


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ53916Σ ΤƔΣ239

Her depression was contagious: soon all her friends were miserable. She finally surfaced from it: they did not.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ54141Σ ΤƔΣ240

I count it part of my good fortune that I do not own a domain name. But if I had to, it would be www.ipromisedmyselfiwouldneverdothis.com.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ54367Σ ΤƔΣ241

My poem cycle is a series of powerful magnifying glasses through which astute readers can approach a definitive tally of my body hairs.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ54593Σ ΤƔΣ242

no matter what or how much she reads, she is always reading about herself, about her own problems, about the www


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ54818Σ ΤƔΣ243

U get her new book? —Yes. —What u think? —Bummed it only comes in taupe & fuchsia.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ55044Σ ΤƔΣ244

in the event of my death, plz use enclosed materials—fingernail clippings, poemz—to reconstruct my consciousness & bring me back to www


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ55269Σ ΤƔΣ245

DM, “how do u choose the subject of any given poem?” 2 which, “Thnx.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ55495Σ ΤƔΣ246

sh tkes a 223 scnde brk b4 clcuatign odds of pomz timelyy compnelteion: 100%


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ55721Σ ΤƔΣ247

DM, “ur poemz r all the same: lil gravity undercut by lil levity. wtf?” 2 which, “4 real. steadily approaching perfect poem, perfect joke.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ55946Σ ΤƔΣ248

What good is a poem that does not even shit on every poem that ever was and will be?


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ56172Σ ΤƔΣ249

She will not stop until she’s illegally downloaded every last song, from every last album, from every last musician


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ56397Σ ΤƔΣ250



1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ56623Σ ΤƔΣ251

it is not world hunger that pains me most of all, but rather my own immediate, personal hunger. —anybody up for a quick antipasto?


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ56849Σ ΤƔΣ252

most of all I will miss the sun, the stars, and the U.S. Dept. of Education’s Federal Direct Student Loan Program’s biweekly phone calls


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ57074Σ ΤƔΣ253

thank god 4 THAT meme, else THIS meme may never have even gone viral. —but perhaps some even more precious THIS was precluded by that THAT.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ57300Σ ΤƔΣ254

can’t be embarrassed by your poemz if you’re always writing a new one


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ57525Σ ΤƔΣ255

DM, “do u mind if i imitate ur poetic style?” 2 which, “go 4 it grl, & may ur world fame soon equal & exceed even mine.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ57751Σ ΤƔΣ256

those majestic mountains, that shining sea: all god’s handiwork! —omg grl, ur looking 2 deep, keep ur eyes more on the surface of things


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ57977Σ ΤƔΣ257

she never knew how good her poemz were until all those super famous poets started hating on her


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ58202Σ ΤƔΣ258

If I may, what role did luck or chance play in your poemz centermost establishment in the canon of world literature? —No role whatsoever.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ58428Σ ΤƔΣ259

The American and the Terrorist, speaking simultaneously: “But you’ve got good and evil exactly ass-backwards!!!”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ58653Σ ΤƔΣ260

Once I write the next poem, the previous poem blooms. Until then, it’s as if the first one is incapable of blooming, as if it’s—gulp—prose.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ58879Σ ΤƔΣ261

Who’s the most original poet writing today? —Trick question. —Correct. So how about today’s most unoriginal poet? —Why, me, of course!


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ59105Σ ΤƔΣ262

Amt of time before Wikipedia page was updated 2 reflect ur death? —Approx 8 min after flatline. —Sorry, waiting rm 4 nonfamous is nxt door.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ59330Σ ΤƔΣ263

It’s not her vanity that fuels her incredible desire for fame—it’s her survival instinct.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ59556Σ ΤƔΣ264

her link to hezbollah site received same number of likes as link to zionist site received same number of likes as link to elmo site


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ59781Σ ΤƔΣ265

the only thing she knows with certainty is that she doesn’t really know shit about anything


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ60007Σ ΤƔΣ266

finally i am famous, poet declares, finally i can stop writing poetry, start enjoying life


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ60233Σ ΤƔΣ267

as my goal, Ur Eminence, was the complete overthrowing of their episteme, I didnt particularly feel myself subject 2 blah blah blah blah


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ60458Σ ΤƔΣ268

DM, “u r my hero.” 2 which, “i scale the mountain atop which u sit, dear fanboy, my highest hope, the heavenly summit for which i suffer.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ60684Σ ΤƔΣ269

what do u believe? —that any and all belief is erroneous. —but how can u b sure? —idiot.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ60909Σ ΤƔΣ270

try speaking to real humans in irreverant 140-word microbursts, try becoming the person u really are


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ61135Σ ΤƔΣ271

Do not pity ur friend her flip phone and PC—that pity will only diminish the intensity with which u might better love ur Apple products.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ61361Σ ΤƔΣ272

“i luv u, fanboy” = “i have high hopes 4 u”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ61586Σ ΤƔΣ273

Poet tells therapist she’s ashamed of her poetry. Therapist suggests poet try writing prose. Poet fires therapist.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ61812Σ ΤƔΣ274

Prospective poets may now submit online or be euthanized for a nominal fee.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ62037Σ ΤƔΣ275

Where do u write? —Bathroom, in front of the mirror. —Why? —I’m sorry, this interview is over.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ62263Σ ΤƔΣ276

DM, “do u ever go thru & delete old shitty poemz?” 2 which, “Every poem is as it must and forever be.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ62489Σ ΤƔΣ277

friend dies, market crashes, book falls in toilet—all conditions the present. had book ricocheted off rim, would not be person i am today.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ62714Σ ΤƔΣ278

Like life. Defriend death.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ62940Σ ΤƔΣ279

We were friends. She blocked me. Later she refriended me. I blocked her. Now we friend/block a couple times/year. The earth spins aimlessly.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ63165Σ ΤƔΣ280



1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ63391Σ ΤƔΣ281

How refreshing it would be to encounter an eschatology without all the drama. A soft belch from God, a sharp error beep—world’s over.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ63617Σ ΤƔΣ282

Most poets wouldn’t work in this form bc they’d find it too languorous—viz bc they only ever learned to trot. Come, fanboys, walk with me.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ63842Σ ΤƔΣ283

U.S. Army Corps of Engineers finally discovered how to make tanks run on ideas. Operation Iraqi Freedom XII was primarily epistemological.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ64068Σ ΤƔΣ284

A: What a lovely sunset! B: Random molecular scattering. Also, clarity may presage good hunting/gathering weather. A: Go fuck yourself, B.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ64293Σ ΤƔΣ285

god friended me, trolled my wall. i blocked him. refriended me under an alias, but id know that smug, self-righteous trollstyle anywhere …


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ64519Σ ΤƔΣ286

she dreams of transgenerational improvement: faster connections, longer runtimes, more efficient power consumption, securer ecosystems


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ64745Σ ΤƔΣ287

few members of the media predicted that the new offerings would include wireless charging capabilities, even fewer predicted teeth


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ64970Σ ΤƔΣ288

Orgasmic flurry of posts. Body shuddering, cacheing, updating. Prolonged plateau phase. Laptop drenched in sweat & tears & rheum.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ65196Σ ΤƔΣ289

Cyberspring. —The sun has shone on fertile soil, gentle rains have come. Flowers blossom everywhere within these, our integrated systems.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ65421Σ ΤƔΣ290

on constraint. —it is not the exterior form that shape her poemz, it is her interior taste, tho form and taste happen to align, in her case.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ65647Σ ΤƔΣ291

repair roof with keystroke. construct addition in couple lines of code. remodel kitchen while you sleep. add children by clicking here.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ65873Σ ΤƔΣ292

“2 much www is bad 4 u.” —but u havent plunged, refused 2 come up 4 air, learned 2 breathe differently. 2 much www is only bad 4 ur big toe.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ66098Σ ΤƔΣ293

2 stuffy here, 2 much recirculated air, i have 2 go outside. —go then, pen ur tree poem, ur sunset poem, ur epic fail. i shall stay indoors.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ66324Σ ΤƔΣ294

the poet’s inclination, to write what she knew—celebrity scars, industry rumors, hardware specs—starved to death her pathos-hungry readers.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ66549Σ ΤƔΣ295

Faith—that lazy, persistent fool, that vile habit, the bad joke she couldn’t stop telling herself—would finally become her poetic undoing.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ66775Σ ΤƔΣ296

DM, “what else do u do besides write poemz?” 2 which, “could i ask u 2 rephrase the q?”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ67001Σ ΤƔΣ297

disdain for her cavewall’s familiar shadows was later echoed and even surpassed by disdain for her herdbook wall’s familiar posturings


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ67226Σ ΤƔΣ298

Had some good ideas for poemz, but then went and—idiot!—wrote them down with pen and paper.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ67452Σ ΤƔΣ299

Where art ends & life begins. —She eulogized the bent paperclip, the crumpled Kleenex, the dusty surge protector, the empty toner cartridge.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ67677Σ ΤƔΣ300

As magic was to science—the prelude, a promise—so was religion to social media.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ67903Σ ΤƔΣ301

always thought poemz were responding to the world, later turned out they were merely creating it


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ68129Σ ΤƔΣ302

foolish little riddle, grand poetic pronouncement … any old random bit of bullshit … all good in the hood if fewer than 141 characters …


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ68354Σ ΤƔΣ303

seeming infallibility.— “ur every poem is a gem, u can do no wrong,” 2 which, “i m but a curious poet who happened upon an infallible form.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ68580Σ ΤƔΣ304

attempted poem w linebreaks & meter … espied thru window fast-approaching clouds … dogs barking, strong winds … then came the awful shaking


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ68805Σ ΤƔΣ305

New poetry hire to dept. chair: “It’s nice, roomy. Love the carpet. One question: What’s with the straightjacket hanging from the coattree?”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ69031Σ ΤƔΣ306

she defriended every last one of them, deleted every single post on her wall … she perused her blank profile and feed, finally content …


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ69257Σ ΤƔΣ307

no, www sucks! no, www rocks! no, www sucks! no, www rocks! no, www sucks! no, www rocks! no, www sucks! no, www rocks! no, www sucks! no, w


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ69482Σ ΤƔΣ308

takes her <2 min 2 compose & post poem, takes fanboy <2 sec 2 love/loathe/meh it


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ69708Σ ΤƔΣ309

One day the poet finally broke down weeping. “I spent my life seeking their approval,” she lamented, “never their condemnation!”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ69933Σ ΤƔΣ310

I sent my armies of poemz out on important peacekeeping missions—but now the whole world’s at war!


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ70159Σ ΤƔΣ311

“Behold, the future of poetry is at hand!” sez distinguished poet. Didn’t hear him tho, concentrating too hard on my funny meme ekphrasis.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ70385Σ ΤƔΣ312

She gave her mood disorder a pet name: Ethernet. “Here, Ethernet!” she called. “Bad Ethernet!” she scolded. “Heel, Ethernet!” she commanded.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ70610Σ ΤƔΣ313

DM, “Why u dont ever post brutal sex poem?” 2 which, “Politicians’ purview. I post of technological, scatological, rumorous beauty alone.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ70836Σ ΤƔΣ314

Upon perceiving any encroaching lyricism or narrative: cmd-a, delete, DM to random stranger “i know what u did”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ71061Σ ΤƔΣ315

When the fateful day arrives, will she maintain her resolve? Will she breathe 140 sharp and irreverent breaths before kicking out the chair?


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ71287Σ ΤƔΣ316

Fanboy perceived her prescience thus: “With a poet’s gentle touch does she gauge our culture’s pulse.” She thus: “Skullfucked by e-demons.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ71513Σ ΤƔΣ317

She longed for the romantic character of her past depression to replace the frigid character of her present depression.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ71738Σ ΤƔΣ318

Possible worlds. —1) Don’t take ur lithium: the pain is important, there for a reason. 2) Be sure to take ur lithium: u cannot live in pain.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ71964Σ ΤƔΣ319

—A miracle! —Pshaw, red dye pills in water. —A miracle! —Pshaw, saw him here earlier installing acrylic platform below lake’s surface.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ72189Σ ΤƔΣ320



1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ72415Σ ΤƔΣ321

The only way we can win is if we start thinking like they think. For starters, why not replace these blast walls with women and children?


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ72641Σ ΤƔΣ322

She listens inward toward her organs or outward toward the stars, hears alike that familiar irrational rhythm, total tonal discord.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ72866Σ ΤƔΣ323



1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ73092Σ ΤƔΣ324

Life as a means to knowledge. —But what good is knowledge when they insist on keeping secret all details of the impending hardware refresh?


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ73317Σ ΤƔΣ325

Easy 4 me 2 suffer, hard 2 inflict it. Hard 4 him 2 suffer, easy 2 inflict it. So we run toward each other w/ open arms, suicide bomber & I.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ73543Σ ΤƔΣ326

You must cleanse yourself, my child. —But I bathed just yesterday, Father. Surely it’s enough to throw on some deodorant and clean clothes?


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ73769Σ ΤƔΣ327

Syllogism. —Life is a complete joke. Poetry is part of life. Therefore poetry is also a complete joke.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ73994Σ ΤƔΣ328

DM, “Ur poemz r all abt yrself, egomaniac biatch. Burn in hell.” 2 which, “If only I could! But flattered, fanboy, u noticed egomania. :-)”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ74220Σ ΤƔΣ329

What do u do 4 work? —Poemz. —I say again, what do u 4 work? —Poemz. —I say again, what do u do 4 work? —Poemz. —I say again, what do u do 4


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ74445Σ ΤƔΣ330

She verified that poem’s intent was preserved in fewer than 141 characters. Then she allowed herself a maniacal convulsion of laughter.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ74671Σ ΤƔΣ331

But ur new book of poems was so widely reviewed & praised! How can u possibly complain? —Reviews spoken, never screamed.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ74897Σ ΤƔΣ332

If u luv me, u must accept the bad poemz along w/ the good.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ75122Σ ΤƔΣ333

The gravity of poetry. —“That’s not a poem.” “How do you know?” “Because it made me laugh.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ75348Σ ΤƔΣ334

An epic beach volleyball match—Mozart and Beyonce against me and Goethe—to once and for all settle music v. poetry question.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ75573Σ ΤƔΣ335

DM, “Where do u get ur ideas?” 2 which, “Lil voice in ur head sez do one thing, do exact opposite.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ75799Σ ΤƔΣ336

The ratio between the lengths of a patient’s index and ring fingers served as an accurate predictor of his/her total number of followers.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ76025Σ ΤƔΣ337

Literary critics of the distant future may look back on her poemz and say, “01101101 01100101 01101000” (“meh”).


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ76250Σ ΤƔΣ338

The poet eagerly enlisted, for to her war seemed a short detour to suicide. But soon she was bored of war, as she had been bored of life.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ76476Σ ΤƔΣ339

She fancied herself possessive of rare genius—i.e. genius that rarely revealed itself.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ76701Σ ΤƔΣ340

If she must speak last words, they shall be these: “Tell Jony he can save room for other fun things by making the spacebar smaller.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ76927Σ ΤƔΣ341

Post each poem as if you will later be forced to account for its merit under threat of the world’s immediate destruction.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ77153Σ ΤƔΣ342

Dawn of final day she wakes, addresses the sun: “Long ago u tired of us—but stayed on for me. Go now, I give u leave to shine elsewhere.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ77378Σ ΤƔΣ343

Creation myth 2.0. —She tripped on a stalagmite: her iPhone fell into a pool of slime. Millennia passed: iPhone became iPad.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ77604Σ ΤƔΣ344

Her quarrel with God, her quarrel with truth … Her quarrel with quarreling … Her quarrel with quarreling with quarreling …


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ77829Σ ΤƔΣ345

Of far-future feminism. —Her campaign against objectification was undermined, they argued, by her decision to undergo body removal surgery.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ78055Σ ΤƔΣ346

DM, “I don’t really believe in god either!” 2 which, “disbelieve more strongly, dear fanboy, disbelieve to the second power, thus: 666^2.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ78281Σ ΤƔΣ347

—Good? —Evil. —Death? —Life. —Man? —Woman. —Past? —Future. —Question? —Answer. —Rise? —Set. —Many? —Few. —Faith? —Will. —Poems? —Poemz.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ78506Σ ΤƔΣ348

“I know the answer u want, but I won’t play along, 4 ur whole ontology is built on a faulty presuppostion.” “OK, shall we try 2+2, instead?”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ78732Σ ΤƔΣ349

/species so successful planet’s every nook & cranny occupied by a body/ … thus an underwear-besemened Chas. Darwin awoke from stuffy dreams


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ78957Σ ΤƔΣ350

ok, time 4 church, u kids have everything u need? coats on? gas mask straps fastened? ties tied? everybody’s bazooka’s cocked & loaded?


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ79183Σ ΤƔΣ351

he sprayed my soul with lysol. —lucky, he took a brillo pad to mine. —ya’ll quit your bitchin. mine’s gone for good in some old vacuum bag.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ79409Σ ΤƔΣ352

imagine all poets at conference w/o clothes. —done. —now imagine their poems w/o familiar literary gravitas. —hold on … wait … still trying


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ79634Σ ΤƔΣ353

It began w an attribution of moral value 2 their common actions: she taught them that 2 like/share was good, 2 troll/abstain was bad.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ79860Σ ΤƔΣ354

what she does not post is forever lost; what she does, forever stored


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ80085Σ ΤƔΣ355

“who’s ur audience?” 2 which, “garbagemen, ceos, children, supermodels, the mentally ill & physically disabled … mine are democratic poemz.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ80311Σ ΤƔΣ356

She was a poet, a translator, a professor, an editor, an activist, a mother, a wife, a daughter—viz., she was first and foremost an actor.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ80537Σ ΤƔΣ357

She was an American poet: she drove a Volvo, preferred Aveda hair products, was an Apple devotee, owned a Roth IRA, rarely ate red meat.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ80762Σ ΤƔΣ358

she’s a noob, so she sits sheepishly in the comments section, awaiting the perfect occasion to intone her first amen, hallelujah, LOL


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ80988Σ ΤƔΣ359

The end was nigh. Like a dying animal she went off by herself, chose solitude, found a cave with barely any signal.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ81213Σ ΤƔΣ360

Reading over her life’s work, content began to blur, form grew clearer, until she saw only a vast series of the same poem, 140 underscores.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ81439Σ ΤƔΣ361

She was a truly great poet. And like all great poets before her, she excelled at deception, simulation, falsehood and idolatry.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ81665Σ ΤƔΣ362

for sale kustom abrams tank: ground effects, hydraulics, underbody neon lights, dub spin rims, jet black paint w skulls & ghostflames


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ81890Σ ΤƔΣ363

she loved her husband devoutly and would remain faithful to him until the end—even if, God help her, Ryan Gosling came calling


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ82116Σ ΤƔΣ364

In my time of need, I called on a friend for help … but she had never even heard of me.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ82341Σ ΤƔΣ365

sifts thru old posts w finetooth comb, honing her persona, augmenting her likeability w strategic deletions, reading herself as a friend


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ82567Σ ΤƔΣ366

tried to read an old-fashioned book—printed on paper, with ink, covers, etc.—started sneezing, wheezing, broke out in hives by end of ch. 1


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ82793Σ ΤƔΣ367

she had many followers, but she posted only for Him


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ83018Σ ΤƔΣ368

“i won’t dress up my distaste for her work in some aesthetic formula … her poetry makes my knees ache, my back hurt, my tongue itch”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ83244Σ ΤƔΣ369

she imagined stumbling upon another poet who posted work very similar to her own—and loathing all the irreverant triviality


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ83469Σ ΤƔΣ370

Why write poemz? —For one reason alone: autoimmortalization. (Oh yeah, two more: Wealth and fame beyond all imagining.)


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ83695Σ ΤƔΣ371

She felt misunderstood, misjudged, misidentified … She was not /a/ poet, she felt, but /the/ poet.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ83921Σ ΤƔΣ372

stars on phone align with stars in sky. sweeps phone fast to left, fast to right: stars remain locked in. crosses stars off list.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ84146Σ ΤƔΣ373

“The purpose of life is to hydrogenate carbon dioxide.” —She reads the sentence 100 times, willing its alteration via absent telekinesis.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ84372Σ ΤƔΣ374



1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ84597Σ ΤƔΣ375

“I believe in nothing.” “So you believe in something called nothing?” “No, not even in nothing. & not even in not even in nothing, either.”


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ84823Σ ΤƔΣ376

She completes cycle of poemz, she’s reached her goal, good to go. But then, just before kicking out the chair—new poem idea. Oh wtf.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ85049Σ ΤƔΣ377

We know that consumerism is ugly, archaic—yet we must buy the new iPad on release day lest we miss out on the sublime, the future.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ85274Σ ΤƔΣ378

Type awhile, hit submit, receive DMs. Type, hit submit, receive DMs. Type, receive DMs. Type, DMs. Type DMs. TypeDMs … Die. DMs peter out.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ85500Σ ΤƔΣ379

The writer of this poem is no misanthrope, but not by dint of choice—there’s simply no one here to suffer her loathing.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ85725Σ ΤƔΣ380

To sing of the internet, to sing of it truly—with distance and perspective—she would have to leave it for a time, well nigh 15 tortuous min.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ85951Σ ΤƔΣ381

Poemz: she dives quickly in, quickly out again. But not deep enough! exclaim the enemies of swiftness, flight and dance.


1111101011111111011100βΣ288Δ86177Σ ΤƔΣ382

“If only we had from her a fingernail clipping, a strand of hair, an eyelash, we could have brought her back to post for our age, as well!”


1111101011111111011100βΣ289Δ00002Σ ΤƔΣ383

Friends, followers & fanboys needed: who have not yet been born. Fellow poets sought: who can pirouette on the surface of an electron.