Stop dim lightbulb; you burn thyself when unscrewing when the power's on ya! Do not, says I, store nickels and dimes in the socket because the light shade will burst into flames like a bucket overturned upon the candle burning at both ends like the old Brian Ferry song.
As for "tadpole" of FBCDtwn, the conspiracy is in your genes, and homosexuality is like a flock of midges trying to communicate with the "giant space alien" walking down sidewalks all Spring and all Summer. Ever think of speaking "bug"? Please do not shoo away those creatures of God. Rather, be a shepherd with thine "God whistle" and accept the sin through forgiveness instead of playing Lord God Almighty with the lives of people who do tend to jump out of the book right at your face like jack-in-the-boxes popping upwards from a little tin box. You madeth the same mistake with the Blacks. You've decided women should now become property and objectified, something that makes no sense at all if you, the farmer of Jesus, step out onto the pasture to see that all the cattle have both started braying before the sun came up and have now disappeared into the UFOs.
I think the biggest improvement was Dallas Observer's decision to profile poets who need attention. Those with the hatchets have departed for Half Price Books, and now it is indeed safe for the journalist to return to those of us who kinda-sorta have that postmodernist blues when journalists who have not read Derrida suddenly realize that the objects only appear when their history is given a full examination and that, if only the subject-journalist exists, the object is meaningless.
Metamodernism is rising now. You'll be OK. Here's a clue to poetry v real estate developers: We did not like it one bit when Martin Heidegger insisted that our sensory organs and limbs be called "equipment". We are not part of the machine dream, and loom with intent to lurk after having been replaced by Rush Limbaugh and Mark Levin after the famed Reagan speech, "It's mornin' in America. Duuuuuuude!" AM radio. FM means something else [expletive deleted].
I so enjoyed the perky, zippy, crispy, coltish and chipper recollection here I am now in skatter-shot world in terms of going to 11 on a dial of 10. Save me. Your DO is free.
Dangit. I am happy that clouds have now become incorporated subsidiaries of the electronic experiment of the Internet anarchism that tends to ignore binary code and servers.
Would you like our microwaved fry special, sir?