When we make plans it’s always the same thing. The dog needs to go outside. The neighbors need to be put away in cages. The neighbors need to be told to shut the fuck up. Once I open my mouth to say YOU ARE THE NASTIEST PILE OF CLOTHING but instead I say DO YOU LIKE YOUR NEW TRUCK. Once I open my mouth to say THE BOTH OF YOU ARE A MISERABLE TELEVISION DRAMADIE but instead I say I LIKE THE WAY YOU LEAVE YOUR COUCH ON THE PATIO. I don’t say this either. God you know I’m a liar, actually I open my mouth to say both these things and instead say nothing at all. My heart is contained within the pages of the Los Angeles Review. I am so proud of my heart. It’s two pages long and I leave it on the shelf and wish your friends will read my heart. Instead nothing. Instead we talk about Paris and none of it makes any sense, instead we make vague plans, we say WE’LL COME OUT YOUR WAY TO SEE THE OTHER SIDE OF THE COUNTRY, actually you say WE’RE HAVING A BARBECUE IN AUGUST. I want the property value to drop like bird shit, I want everything to burn like a wildfire.
