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clich� play
12.18.02 at 3:19 am

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i have fried chichen�now i can write.

but it's too hot to eat.

i recall...

you were drunk, i was not.

let's have a cigarette, a glass of wine. you have a cigarette, right?

of course i do. and yes i'll join you, though i don't want a cigarette and i won't have some wine.

now, with my fried chicken, i am almost too hungry and focused on the chcken to write, but i write anyway. that night,

over your cheap wine and cigarette i was almost too bored to stay, but i listened anyway. i had thought i wanted no more cigarettes, but hearing you talk made me want to smoke myself away�

poised, inhal, nod, exhale�

so i could care and feel anything.

i don't want to hear about how you think you were meant to live life misunderstood, or how you think we'll meet someday and i'll say, way back when, that i heard you.

i didn't! i don't know what you're talking about, and none of your many dramatic pauses will help. and, yes, you're misunderstood, but only because who really understand a clich�? clich�s are not understood social facts. they're ideas that are overused to the extent that merely the essence is referenced. a term, perhaps, that people use followed by, "you know?" a general mold of something you want to avoid if you're anything of value.

and i led you on.

left ' right