Blah blah blah!

There's no good feeling I can’t curdle,
no tonguetwister I can’t hurdle

you come together, you and yourself, your history and expectations, your
fear of death by abandonment, your fear of smothering by a well-
intentioned government. You push and pull, you pull wool, you oversell
your qualities but meekness makes you shakykneed. You leave, you’re a
man and men don’t stay so keep moving, women want to change you, you who
own no mirror, you who are a stranger. Addicted to unpredictability,
ironic by definition and solipsistically erroneous but vindicated by
self-righteous self-derision. Dutiful duplicity or beauty in simplicity?
This paradox is evergreen, the message isn’t at all, the canvass is art
itself, you stare at yourself upside-down in a spoon, you’d sooner press
enter than escape, you’re trapped in articulate distortions and a
million degradations from generosity to rape.