I confess I am flummoxed! It used to be easy to tell the productive nutcases from the slackers who were too far gone to hunt down a good agent and go for the gravy. Sometimes Art imitates life... and sometimes it just imitates Elvis.
Ok so this guy had more issues than National Geographic. But at least as far as we know he was not Francophonic Hannibal Lector. I think I heard some of the lines before during a reading at a Chicago coffeehouse called Kill the Poets. Ain'tit Joe was a walking stream of unconsciousness. A nonstop monologue that blasted all logic and artsy posery on it's ass. Even the spooky poetess chick in the black deathsuit had to stop contemplating her impending suicide and scratch her head in incomprehension. mmmmmmmmmmmmmm zen...
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