It was a fantasy about the body.
I wrote a wound piece about empires.
I wrote a performance piece about being alive.
Sometimes when I travel I rewrite old stories, such as the The Burial of George W. Bush, which I wrote while travelling in a skin-colored outfit (very vulgar).
I write nation pieces in black face.
I sign a blank check for The USA.
I don’t use my real name.
I sign it “The Immigrant” or “The Idiot.”
Or sometimes I sign it “John Ashbery.”
I write poems and sign them “John Ashbery” and send them into the New Yorker.
They always publish them.
I pile up the poems on the ground when I write about media.
Sometimes when I write novels, I dream about setting fire to a radio that is telling me about masks and violence.
I write hole pieces because I’m angry.
I write hole pieces because I’m in love.
I write pastoral pieces because I can hear the pigs being slaughtered.