He's fucking good. I mean, fucking, he's good. You probably already knew that shit, but it blew my fucking mind. Fucking funny poems, ese. All kinds of fucking strange shit on a street corner or maybe a tractor, like grandfather gonna' die and 'collateral calcification' gonna set in. I like how he fuckin talks, ya know? He sounds in my head like, one of those fucking guys, you know those fucking guys- the smart ones, like they think something, than they think it all over again real smart-like, then they tell it to you. He's like a fucking word saying a word.

Fucking funny rhymes: "Ferries to and from the cherries"- that's funny 'homes. You don't think that shit's funny? Fuck you then, I'll read that shit to myself-

lemmeseehearohheheyeahthat'sgoodhuhwhat'shemeanohhe'sjustfuckin'aroundthat'sajokeaboutwritingorsomethingorohIgetitit'sjusttheway"suture"and"sullen"soundtogethersomeofthatpoetryshitwhatthefuckdoes"suborned"meancoolfuckingword'homes"sogallantsoindescribablyfurious"yeahlikewhenyougetreallymadyoucan'tfuckingtalkoryourheadgetssoreditsnotaheadanymoreohI'mgettingaheadthere'sthepartaboutgrandpaIwonderifhisgrandpareallywasafarmerifhewasIbethewasasocialistfarmerwithfuckinghugehands

I should read some of his fucking criticism but the guy tell me, "no sorry we don't carry that title", so I gotta go to the library tommorrow, you know. First I gotta give back the fucking car they gave me, they say the check is in the mail so I gotta return the pinche rental, I say "you know how long the fucking mail takes in my neighborhood". Fucking insurance agents, they should lick my balls. Anyways, I got this book of poems called With Strings by Charles Bernstein, you should check it out. He's fucking good, ese.

Later