You seem to be aware—
some would say overaware—of
how many books you’ve written,
how many years you have been a writer.
Yes, I am taking my temperature.
It’s neurotic. I am as squirrelly as
a mental patient. Daily typewriting,
you live in the present, in the moment,
but you are trying to understand yourself
backwards, so you look for turning points.
Milestones. Nothing happened. Huh?
That don’t compute. Nevertheless.
Deal with it. When reality is surreal
surrealism is realism. Write
a manifesto. The media
are sucking us under.
It’s an undertow.
A rip tide.
Bad currents.
I see a trend. Shit
used to be blacker and richer.
All satirists are conservative.