I remember reading somewhere that symbolism is for the ignorant uninitiated. When I sit down I remember reading something somewhere and it’s the time bomb in the movies with the red flashing light and the exposed wires and I’m not quite sure how to deal with it. I’ve never dealt with anything else before, so, in my mind, my freshman status is excused.
This seemed so much easier in the shower, when my right ear was hot and my feet were slick against the tile, sliding on a rink of soap and cum. My cigarette break from the world, everyone else stops and sits down and catches their breath and I cough at the steam and wish I’d brought sandals. And chart novels across my head.
I sit in the chair, remembering reading something somewhere, and I set about picking at the bricks, one at a time. Am I so much smarter than everyone else? I know I’m not. And what if I finish it? Will I finally be pretentious enough to wear the scarf and laugh knowing people are afraid of me?
...and at the same time, what outlet do I have? The internet, the grand cruisy restroom to the artists of the world? A coffee shop where I could leave fucking white paper xerox on the table and sit in the corner? Scarf over my shoulder?
Jesus Christ, I’m a bastard. And still I care.

REVIEW
Irony
4 Stars (Out of 5)

no irony here! no siree.