This is a Journal entry by The Dirty Vicar
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The Dirty Vicar Started conversation Jan 4, 2001
I believe in the death of demons.
Maybe I should take a swim.
Ginsberg spoils me, too much time in his words
Some more?
Eyes are lead
I can't feel my head
It's waving goodbye and bleeding on the new carpet.
I pretend not to notice the deep stain.
Bloated- I sing the Psalms to a pictiure of Alexander the Great.
Destroy some cooking pans-
wrought iron and crawling on my back-upside down -against the door
my typewriter is broken
I use the stars and stripes as a blanket
I use it as a turniquite
And dream sleeplessly against the cieling.
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