PRESSURE PRESS ARCHIVE

he has to explain the situation Black Sparrow is publishing Lyn! Cat purrs luxuriously hungry with fish just at the edge of her teeth. Black Sparrow! Cat screams. Wow, Dog (that's me) barks, Wow. Mark, who is no animal other than quietly sensitive human, hums Of course, they shld publish a good book of Lifshin's. Cat is direct, It took her ten years of submitting before they took anything, & Cat is calculating, So I say to myself, Aha! What in all fuck does Black Sparrow matter? Dog questioningly growls. Something feels false to that goal, Dog explains, as Mark's & Cat's eyes align. Dog feels in the middle of crossed stars. It's a penultimate professional achievement, Cat meows to Mark. Yes, a penultimate professional achievement, Mark echoes as he considers the image of bending for those blue eyes & kissing her. Bullshit, Dog, Mr. Wallflower, burps, watching his toes caterpillaring around in his shoes. I'm putting a collection together, Cat turns a slow glance at Dog. Really? Mark sincerely asks as their eyes snap together again. None of that matters, Dog is insistent. What a stick-in-the-mud, Cat snaps to Mark smiling happily. Stick-in-the-mud, Mark repeats. Listen, there's so much of the World & to Life, I mean what if you live in Hell, what if you're alone & philosophically cancered, everything down to bottom-line & savage, & the people in daily life are all goddamn strangers & nuts, Life is a continuing Play, act like this & it be reality, I see faces of pain & faces that will mutate from eventual pain, I hear the dumb thunk of emotional laziness, I taste all the everyday poisons, I breathe on the brink of emphasis & I smell the surreal odors like anything sweet's good, & then there's marriage & work & overwhelming bills..., Dog is all clumsy paws & he makes circles in the air. Stick-in-the-mud, Mark repeats. Yeah man, Dog openly agrees, Stuck in the mud of being alive. Not me! Cat sings. Not Lifshin either, Mark proposes. I'm fucked, Dog mutters. Fucked. The future is fucked. The present's all fucked up & the past ain't nothing. Purity has long been ravaged. Everything is in shreds, shredded, confusing, not repairable. I know humbleness well. Life is diseased & whether we fight the disease or let it run is a matter of choice or Fate. Nothing or nobody can be counted on because few realize Insanity is the main human condition, & Sanity is simply reins & sheltering eye-guides & delusion, the "sane voice", the sound of the lie, things we forget we say, thought-erasion, logics determined by media & society. Even Religion is anarchistic. We don't remember the newspaper from two years ago. The surface of Earth is wild. We don't know what Life is beyond a miniscule slice of Time & Space. Say Jesus & end the agony. Say Black Sparrow. So the fuck what. Cat & Mark are looking at Dog's mouth. Dog looks back & forth at their faces (with a pull-down to Cat's delicious outline of breasts under a pink sweater). What? Oh, nothing, Cat says softly, shaking herself awake into Mark's gaze again.