I don’t have it right yet. I probably won’t get it right. I even love my ignorance. I love my yellow butter-smeared belly of ignorance. I lick my god damn soul out with my typewriter tongue. I don’t entirely want art. I want entertainment, first. I want to forget. I want a buzzing, some shouting among the wine-dizzy chandeliers. I want. I mean, if we can work art in after we become interested, fine. but let’s not get holy, tra la, tra la.
