My Dearest Friends and Fucks,
I accidentally wrote a book of poems. I sat down one day writing ideas for businesses. Then ideas for business names. Then ideas for stories. Then a story. Then a poem-story. It’s good to write ideas. It makes my head hurt because I tear my idea-muscle. It’s a good sore. Not like a Snooki lip-sore but like a “The Situation” tummy sore. A tear that builds back bigger and badder. But what an odd turn to take – poetry?.
I wrote my first poem. Then my cousin Brook filmed me saying it.
That was number one. Bad but not the worst. I took a road trip and what better thing to do in the middle of a desert than write a poem? So I wrote one and became an addict of word-vomiting. I kept doing it. Without realizing it I wrote a few hundred of these little word-pukes. They sat in a journal stinking in their own stink.
kyleschen 