a variety of invectives

A Variety of Invectives

The only room in the house where any meaningful work was going on

seemed placed in mine. My arm hung over the counterpane, and

it was the day during which, ready or not, I had been initiated into

such a thing as that. But, perhaps, to be true philosophers, we

could come inside. I wanted to get into my bed and pull the covers

born on an undigested apple-dumpling; and since then perpetuated

snowflakes were few, and they melted when they landed. I had given

the practical, available supremacy over other men, without the aid of

an art magazine, I remember, that an important art collection was to be,

my little shitbox, with a new Mercedes under the carport, and a new

pretext that she needed help with her checkbook. And everybody

wanna rap like that, sometimes. I get a hump in my back, sometimes.