I come not to bury poetry, but to blow it up... not to dandle it on my knee like a retarded child with beautiful eyes, but throw it off a cliff into icy seas and see if the the motherfucker can swim for its life. because love is an excellent thing surely we need it but, my friends... there is so much to hate These Days. that hatred is just love with a chip on its shoulder. a chip as big as the Ritz and heavier than all the bills I'll never pay. because they're after us, they're selling radioactive charm bracelets and breakfast cereals that lower your IQ by 50 points per mouthful. we get politicians who think starting World War III would be a good career move. we got beautiful women with eyes like wet stones peering out at us from the pages of glassy magazines promising that they'll fuck us till we shoot blood... if we'll just buy one of these beautiful switchblade knives... I've got mine.