POETS

I posted some poems at MySpace the other day, as I tend to, then found myself getting really unreasonably vexed with another poet who gave me a "1" rating (maximum is "2") for the poems, even though everybody else had given me a "2" (when half the time, people don't even bother to rate them). I thought, "Who does that fucker think he is? I go over to his and give him "2" ratings all the time! Does he think he's better than me?" et. etc. etc.

I HAD had a bad day at work and was in a fractious mood anyway, but there's no excuse. AND I knew it. So I wrote a quick post saying I wasn't going to post any poetry today because I was bored of my own mind (something like that), and I went home.

Poets. Fragile egotists who want the whole world to lock their genitals in a permanent act of fellatio.

I am sick of myself half the time. I also find I'm pretty sick of the whole scene. Everybody seeming to think they are so special and so important, even if they are giving the world something it has no use for whatever.

Did I mention I know this artist woman who told me creative people are "thoroughbreds"? I'm no thoroughbred. I'm more like a wounded old carthorse who spends all day in the barn trying to convince itself it likes the smell of horseshit. And I suspect there are a few more out there who're the same.

There are thoroughbreds in every walk of life. And thorough idiots in every walk of life. I have spoken.