I called my boyfriend cryin because Iím mentally ill, no wonder everyoneís so mean and stigma-rollin over me, they want normal, consensual reality, life in the habitus, who can blame them for beating off an untimely twitch, I know the difference between IR-rational and NON-rational Bob, this is my choice, huh, whatís that if not insane, plus setting back the whole womensí movement every store I go into, hysteric, sexhellholekitten template, unladylike, swearin a lot, canít you see Iím no good for you baby?


Artist, he says. Indubitable, unquestionable, ipso-facto, inside and out, thatís your template, bona-fide creator, people donít get artists, donít know how to talk to them, itís an entire terrain they know nothing about, donít even see, does this make sense?

Youíre doing what you were born to do, call it what you want, you were born to be an artist.


Um, the suns not yella itís profiteering?

















Copyright 2002 Robin Plan and rights reserved.