AUTHOR.CALHO: If I didn't write it, I would be hitch hiking cross country to Maine and then Alaska in that order. While taking frequent breaks to spread leaflets. And sit in diners. And write on things because I wasn't at a computer. I may still do that in a few years. Writing this also helps me forget about and better understand the limitations of being human, and keeps me busy enough to allow me no free time to burn the world down.

THEMATIC.ABOUT : Collapse often. The things that hold people together and hold them apart and scatter brains. The things that make thoughts go boom. The things that ooh and aah and [expletive deleted]. Sometimes poking around the margins where responsibility ends and the only one to look to is the Original Equipment Manufacturer and say "but, I already pressed 9 for more options and the menus are exactly the same. Can you just replace it?" The answer will be: "please hold." Sometimes hanging out in dark corners. Sometimes following the train tracks. Looking for ways out and ways in and all the while sharing the things seen and heard and done and drawn and written and scorched and healed and teased and caged and dreamed along the way.

5/3/11

dear (______):

Dear "poor" person,

Please stop talking about how "poor" you are. Please stop citing bogus examples of your destitution. If you own a fucking charge card that starts with "Am" and ends with "ex," you are not poor. If your job pays so much that it would be silly to talk about an hourly rate, you are not fucking poor. If your cold cuts are sliced at the deli counter and your cheese doesn't come individually wrapped with disclaimers on the packaging about its nutritional value, your are probably not fucking poor. Manage your money better. Stop being an asshole. And for the love of grilled cheesus stop talking about it like being poor is some sort of club whose membership somehow qualifies and dignifies your spoon fed existence and gives you "perspective".

I sware to god. If you make one more fucking quip that ends with "...that's how poor I am..." I'm going to come to your house and belt bricks through your fucking windows at 4 AM until I can't feel my fingers anymore.
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