no I don’t hate those who live in the neighborhood: I just hate this architecture. I hate your private listserv, the ivy on the wall. I can’t tell the impurity of purity from the purity of impurity, and I’m really too fat to be cool. My favorites are things that accrue like dirt, or pearl. I hate your stupid Lady Gaga, go read some Thomas Traherne, I hate reading sonnets, I’d love to write you a poem about Gaga. And please don’t tell me anything in French. The only thing that really shocks me these days is a really good poem. Now please tell me something in French: say something like, you look different, like my face in the mirror, where the sides are wrong; you look different because you’re too same, like you’re a function of remembering.