| HOPE & FEAR • TERROR & CHANGE |

On my cave walls I'm codifying this hiss, inflicting drama and neglect, allowing sorrow and apathy to unite and fight the audacity of hope and all those hopemongers. Empty promises. Although I dig the language, I can't help but equate it with terror and fear. What I really mean: it's been cheapened in the hands of lesser patriots.*

I can't escape the fuzz but at least I don't falsify my chains. Or maybe I do. Maybe if you stare long enough into the fire you inflame your brain. Maybe I spill loose spit to spike people to speak, only it's awful hard to hold a conversation with a parrot.

All I'm really saying: is: this. Hear it?


* See my book "The Field Guide for Lesser Patriots," a knockout work by and for desperate and perverted artists.