poorer version of


Usually as a sacrilege, I stood on my head and peed into my own mouth as a chimpanzee might on bikini night promotionals.

There are jobs — and then there are the odd messes of oddnesses.

Working two jobs — the second one in a factory that made terrycloth track suits.

I got me a terrycloth track suit. I got me me an orange-faced watch.

I liked my orange-faced watch. I was a bit uncertain about the terrycloth track suit.

And then a couple of “well-off” others criticized my new presents. Then I found these gifts full of faults. Saw these gifts as they saw them.

A poorer version of…

We seemed to always have a poorer version of. Not only were we poor, but we apparently were without clue or taste.

Tasted bitter then.

So I can confirm that I conformed — and went one better: I became the clown. I became the chimp.

Until I wasn’t. Until I saw the dynamic clearly. Until I saw you for what you were.

“I’m not going to let the fact that I live in a nation with a bunch of fools make a fool out of me.”

— Nikki Giovanni / The New York Times, December 12, 2020.

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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