Trying to see the beauty in endless bloody war, the self-destructive madnesses of friends, garbage scattered on the roadside- it's kind of a lot of work, but I think it's probably best, so many unbeautiful, so many terrifying things, all full of beauty regardless, wanting out, I want to let it out.
Remember some German new left writer, can't remember if it was in Male Fantasies or Critique of Cynical Reason or what, giving Michael Herr a hard time for glorifying combat high in Dispatches, people put on blinkers to stay on point, I guess- fact is, there's much of the glorious and romantic in war, just like in everything else, no use for any motherfucking politics that requires poking the eyes out, I want to see everything, I want you to see everything, too, sorry about that, I've decided it's best.
Kidding, kidding. Do whatever you like, I'll just sit back & relish the pure horror of it, dears.
Thinking about poor, sweet, drunk, dead Peter Laughner. Let's see you do one thing as senselessly cruel as Sylvia Plath.