Normally I don’t feel this way.
I’m not a total asshole. But look. You’re young.
So many bad things are going to happen to you.
You’re just going to be bald and fat like the rest
of us. I’m not bald and fat, yet, but I am disappointed.
I can’t stop talking about how much I hate the world
because the world keeps happening. Ayn Rand
keeps happening. Your enthusiasm for Ayn Rand
makes me want to push you down the stairs.
I’m glad you’re engaging with literature but it’s not literature
and it is like fascism. Take China. Take China and the factories
that are like summer camp. A summer camp where you build iPods
and commit suicide. When I look at you, all excited and full of life
like the General Lee leaping over a bridge, I want to bend you
in your daisy dukes over the tree of life and show you
how the proletariat misuses and abuses the ellipses,
which is the most sincere thing I can say right now,
without pretending the same kind of awful energy
you’ve got for your own passions,
which aren’t mine, which hurt me almost as much
as your phone and your thumbs with their blurring motion,
texting OMG LOL WTF, beautiful in their speed.