Truth Be.

I yelled at paintings yesterday because they were lying to me. Muttered under my breath "fuckartfuckartfuckartfuckart" for the entire exhibit. Perhaps it was because I was drunk-- figuratively, literally. Poisoned. I stole about five glasses of wine and wrote on an SUV with chalk.

f uckar tfuckart fu ckartf ucka rtfuckar tfuckart f ucka rt.
.tr akcu f trakcuft rakcuftr akcu ftrakc uf trakcuft rakcu f

Vulgar. Cheap. Mostly Vulgar.

Katie Marie calls. More important things to note. "Life is infinitely divisible." She says to stop using big words. I hang up. Happy Birthday.

This morning parents breakfast hungover orange juice eggs steak coffee. Mother stirred father's coffee.
The wheel on our cart was wobbly. There's a tree outside this office. We are all children of god. We are not children of our parents. Objectivity.

To the Wrought Metal Sconces:

In me, inspiration irrelevant
recognizing a careful construct.
An image.
equal typeface fonts
just as structured
bodoni / times new roman
sariff-ed
purpose not search,
but a revelation
mispronounced relevation
words like ( ) ( ) and ellipses
there is attention to form
just as structured
a profane love poetry
but not love.
Truth.
Typography the means
Purpose set by borders
understand in me
that because you cannot do
one in one and not at all
Any such as you.