It’s news. It’s art. It’s protected speech by a disabled writer speaking to other writers, only as one audience. It’s classical journalism. Which way is the political wind blowing out there today. The backdrop or in your face. This is the Great Machine that slides into war. Russia smells a weakness. Unleash the dog packs. This is war. America puffs up. We sign a pact. Europe begins the dystopian fall pretty quickly hey are testing yoiu. We are a nervous Narco. State. I have autism what the fuck do you have why don’t we count every diagnosis made against the gravitas, time, that is what we are. All the real drug markets are right here and if Americans cannot save themselves from New Orleans it’s all still there. With all the riches they have stored at Head Start, the chariots are locked, and loaded. Unleash who dogs of what dog war. Why is everyone so tired of this. He’s a mad little boy go kick Mommie’s legs you little bitch. Is this Baby Bumble situation tumble Institutional Subjugation Nation Mick I may be autistic, and have no clue as to Homo sapiens’ relatationships, I’m guessing, as to how a skeleton can exist, go away, and play me like a song. I told you, this is news and poetic license in a bong. Without people like me who are at risk anyway, rock and roll and storms of horses screaming blood beneath the thunder. That humanity exists at all is more than half the fucking wonder.