cliches revisited

I have written elsewhere that a rant is the emanation of an old argument. It is the rational co-relative of a public bean fart. It relieves distortions and creates a demystifying human solidarity. But only if you don’t do it too often.

There is the contrary too. If there is an unacknowledged elephant crapping in the room it will radically affect your language and behaviour especially when you are asking guests to remove their shoes. It is the equivalent of an avoided martyrdom for a spiritual leader. It makes the divine path seem dodgy.

When I met you on the road to Damascus you asked directions to downtown Toronto.

I regret now that time has passed, that you have been wrongfully criticised by former teachers for not reaching the depths of your potential superficiality. I affirm here in your support as a peer that rather than that you have succeeded beyond our dreams in finding the essence of the commonplaces of your generation. That is only one of your mean feats. You are a guardian of the cultural narrative of the inarticulate. You have called many others ugly, everyone actually, which is so therapeutically devastating for an aspirant soul coming as it does from a leprous iguana. I have heard you mutilate the competent in your mind in the privacy of your own room as a stimulant and inspiration for your minimalist output. I must acknowledge that commitment to professionalism if true is unmatched.

I loved your ‘Cockroach of the State’ and ‘Orpheus Goes to Las Vegas’. I loved the passionate journalism and the opaque opinion you have written over the years on the nuances of re-zoning in Pickle Crow. That denunciation of your High School and old girlfriends for forgetting your conquests, that thing you wrote last year, ‘Paper Cuts’ was it?, was one of the year’s best soporifics! It was quite the anti-dote to Viagra! I have for one referred to that work when teaching others not to confuse you with that fellow who has the same name as you, the Calcutta Burger Eating Champion of 1966, who is still much better known. I wish you had written the planned “From Jonestown to The Stars”. Why didn’t you? Writer’s Tapeworm? I was awestruck when you renounced intellect, imagination, form and content saying they were the sure signs of dead arts like snowshoeing and hum jobs.

The website you edit is the perfect graveyard for retired stereotypes of the seventies. It is the mullet haircut of literary fashion. It is magic realism dragged ruthlessly through the prism of Fox TV. Each posting is more repetitive than the last! How were you ever able to select these few key and fundamental works now published in these your selected works? Or did you write them beforehand in primary school for your mom and then expand them in later life for later rebirth? This is a literary strategy that goobers the mind.

By the way, are you dead?