by Max Morton
It's like my parents kicked me out again and there is this girl who lets me in at the same time I relize that Maurice Sendock is not my dad, and Mr. Strummer is not comming back. So it's onto the bloodiest plane that my motive takes fruition and it's a cordoroy run that enables VT as a term that's woth mentioning. I have a script called the November Son and, I went to Bard (which ai'nt saying much), I think could be made into a flick. I'm a lose the life out of you MBA trying to start a stupid dot.com in the wake of all the sadness, but would give it all up for a chance to be the next judy blume or cormac mcarthy (2 best poets of our time). Die Bart, Die.
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