The Sorrows of Young Werewolf (eyeteeth) wrote,
The Sorrows of Young Werewolf


So I have this cat. I had not intended to have one, though I like cats very much. I found her freezing to death on Flushing Avenue. The tops of her ears had fallen off from frostbite, and she tests positive for feline leukemia, the feline equivalent of AIDS. She also may or may not have a bellyful of kittens. But purring spills from her throat at the slightest caress, and we all know how much I love pets that will soon sicken and die. So I took her in.

In her present good health the vet says she could have another four years. And after the fate that probably would have met her if I hadn't come along, anything else is gravy.

Attica likes gravy.

Just now, during jury selection, I wrote a fragment patterned after one of my favorite poems.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of seven hundred tablets of Paxil three tibias an unpublished private literature confined in a variety of small spaces and a throbbing, unanswerable celibacy.
I say nothing about my stick figures nor the terminally ill cat with twenty-five percent less ear than she ought to have.
I am already writing about vampires, zombies are next on the list.
My ambition is to be a novelist despite the fact that I can't drink.
Tags: allen ginsberg, attica, photos, poetry, zomg cat
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