"it was never about the poetry. What a joke."
She spoke as if having a muse was criminal, Honeslty, i should be in prison for life, or on my way to the death penalty. This mind, anyhow, is what we call a pennitentiary. A place where inspiration is kept under lock and key. This pencil i'm holding, it could be evidence. On top of keeping a muse, I've beaten her to a bloody pulp. Consider this a confession.

Her name is insignificant. But that's not the point- Collette is actually a crossdressing drag queen. So, i guess that his name is insignificant- and that is the point. I met collette somewhere along a highway, just on the other side of edina. I was sitting outside a perkins at 2AM- in edina, its the only thing to do- staring off the bridge over highway 100. I was reading a book by a well known author, one you'd probably know. The author, but not the book, i mean. It was one of his lesser known titles. one of those books that you read because it makes you look 'hip'. I was having a midlife crisis at fourteen.

I met collette in a ditch. well, i was there- (quite literally.) and she came upon me, and started screaming some vaguely inspired thing.
Wait, why the fuck was i at a perkins at 2AM? and why the hell did i end up in a ditch?
the gift that collette gave me was, i could explain anything away by amnesia. and thus, we have the reason i beat my muse, but also why i have no responsibility to end this in any great fashion. collette is nursing a black eye, among other things.
she's such a bitch sometimes. my vulgarity and the deterioration from the beginning on is her fault.

12/03/2003

Author's Note: i started writing this piece this morning in math class. i tacked on a hasty ending. i halfassedly tried to make the end clever, but you can tell i didnt put much thought into this. i\'m going to go back and work on it, a lil bit later.

Posted on 12/04/2003
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