You cannot escape it
Can
Knot
"If it never is dragged in, it can never escape," she wrote about her writing, which she often called her manifesto: The Life and Death of Draggedinism. I thought her writing was masculine and I told her that once. She called me a fag. It was the 5001st time I'd been called a fag in my life. Because of her I stopped counting and have only given those who've followed a knowing-feminine-smile that I stole from my mother.
It would be nice to sit down and count all the things I stole from my mother. This is a task I would like to give to each person in the world, if given the chance.
I wouldn't trust that type of person that gives tasks to the world, even if it was myself.
Just thought of this: the best manipulator of a person is the person's self. What if you could smell the self, not the body of the self, but if you could always smell your abstract self when you were all there, a full self, all there at one particular moment.
No, no. I do not feel this way tonight.
Frank Sauce is out getting sauced.
I am here with the possiblity of you, dear reader.
When faced with a line of robots, would you trust them?
That's what we're really looking for here. That's the truest expression of the self.
The self is best expressed by asking the question: "when faced with a line of robots, would you trust them?"
I trust a good robot. But I don't meet that many robots, none that I'm aware of.
I like language when it's recent.
row boat sunk
sunk row boat
boat row sunk
boat sunk row
row sunk boat
that's all
I was a teenage microwave; I ate everything by 17
I was a teenage middlefinger; I told everyone to fuck-off
I was a teenage mystic; I ate too much acid by 16
I am a teenage sidewalk; high heels still hurt me
I was a teenage tabletop; wet glasses gave me water rings
I was a teenage door; open me and you could walk in
I was a teenage posthole; I seldom was deep and was filled with rain
Frank Sauce
- By Jeffrey Bershaw
- from Portland, OR
- I'll try to write as little as possible. I'm a little man with high hopes, pipe dreams and little machines inside that keep me writing.
- More About Frank Sauce
- Painting by Anna Todaro
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