Old Made: Self-Portrait in a Negative Space

Us. The rest of us. The rest of us whose days are not running

harder and longer and meaner and funnier. The rest of us

laughing to hurl mud at the wanderers of useless being seeking;

seeing the rumpus rooms there in the back of the house caked

with dust and moldylight and all alone and quiet

and lonely for agood time. The red glass

says lonely forvagrants or any peoples

that would treather well or even urinate

on her pool tableifit meant something to

break the air. Soabandoned! For she is

boarded-up insideanduseless. Less. Decrepit.

Derelict. Old. Defeated. Useless nothing,

useless. Now uselessbutlet’s find a newer and user

friendlier room, lettingthis old one get older and die.

No thoughts of death in a wildthing rumpus room! No thoughts

of aging or uglinessor loss in a rumpus room!

Do you hear me?You are not wiser but

uglier. You arenot wiser but meaner.

Meaner, harder,longer and funnier.

And losing yoursight and hearing.

Hair and marbles.Your will and self

and self and selfandsexdrive. You good

for nothing! Letthe silly young

vagrants in and you willcorrupt them. You do

not understandyouth and movement

and fun andliving any longer.

Let them outand you are

nothing. Nothing, just

useless nothing. Do

not think.Just be.

And thenplease

be nothing.


For the sake of the rest of us. For the rest of us. The rest of us.


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