Dear Diary, some thoughts on the madness of poets and writers. How wonderful, ho delightful I feel every time that I read about my predecessors who either killed themselves or who tried to kill themselves. What ecstasy do I feel when I find that another of my favorite poets was put in a mental institution.

What pity do I feel for the poets and poetic movements who have NOT had their share of suicides and deviant behaviors? I won't respect the poetic avant gardist movement until I one or more of them have jumped off a bridge or died of a heroine overdose. Who at SUNY Buffalo has a drug problem? None, I�m sure. Who (like Blaise Cendrars) lost a limb in combat? Who in the avant-garde goes to S+M clubs to get a public anal fisting?

Not to say that an intense life = intense writing, but it sure helps. Which is my solace today, that the poets in my tradition of grotesque writing are unruly members of society. When masked buffoon crushed my windpipe with her boots I felt guilty, but soon the comfort of stylistic excess soothed me to a peaceful, fulfilling coma.

I promise to do all that I can to delay premature death. When I arrive at the asylum, I know that I'll have made a good record of my days. What pleasure will there be in being a boring 80 year old who looks back on a life of chastity and dullness? Moral crimes are boredom and laziness in pursuing your pleasures. I may indulge in drink too strong and too often, but I pay cash for my pleasure. If I am too demanding one night in the bedroom, then the next I shall play the servant and accomodate.

If I seem too brutish, then YOU are asking the irrelevant question. Art for Art�s sake said Baudellaire. Even if I could change something, what would I change and what would I change it to? It would be nice if everyone laughed at themselves a little more. What have I to offer but another Point Of View? It is the height of arrogance to create art that should change the world.� I spit on po-ethics and the po-ethical wager of the avant-garde. The only ethical challenge to writing is to write. I�m not even concerned with emotional honesty, but if you call yourself a writer, then you should write. That is the ethic of writing.

BTW, props to Harry S. Harvey and his caustic letter to Shawna McCarthy in the April 2002 edition of �Realms of Fantasy.� I too spend every waking hour enraged at the whole of commercial publishing for not discovering me yet. I�m pondering asking Harry to join me on a jihad to destroy all the assholes who haven�t published us! That is, until I am published, then I will thank all publishers and give them hot oil massages and praise their wisdom for publishing my brilliant work. I�ll see you at the top, Harry!

ONE STEP, TWO STEPS, GETTING CLOSER! GETTING CLOSER!