the thing I found in the garage

is this crappy poem I wrote, probably while I was living with The Biggest Mistake of My Life. One thing cleaning out the garage is doing is bringing my hatred of him more clearly into focus. And reminding me of my stupid teenage years.. blech. Anyway, the poem. While it's poorly written, it disturbs me, because while I was writing stuff like this, I still had no strong thoughts that I needed to get out. I was writing myself big flashing warning signs and ignoring them. Oh, help.

got a letter from the boy today..

More and more it seems like his handwriting is a code only the two of us know.

I vacillate about being sure of him. And yet I've thought of the best book dedication for him:
For Bill.
Who meant what he said,
and said what he meant.

Hello, I am a loon.

Okay, time to lug that box up here somehow and start scanning for ebay.

gettin' political, enh?

Slapping the Shit Out of George W. Bush!
From Bob The Angry Flower, of course!