Just a Chihuahua-size one, II

I decided to reply in a new post because I am wordy.

I like "The Book of my Enemy Has Been Remaindered" even though it doesn't rhyme and I am not sure a little kid can be my enemy (excepy my arch-nemesis Katherine).

It reminded me of the Johnny Cash song, "The man who couldn't cry." The mistreated protagonist dies end ...

he went up to heaven, located his dog Not only that, but he rejoined his arm. Down below, all the critics, they took it all back. Cancer robbed the whore of her charm. His ex-wife died of stretch marks, his ex-employer went broke. The theologians were finally found out. Right down to the ground, that old jail house burned down. The earth suffered perpetual drought.

Although I guess if it is victory over ones enemies, you really can't do better than Conan (via Liberty Meadows): "To crush your enemies, to see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women."

I discovered that it is mom's fault I am not published, too. Reading the little kid's website, it turns out she wrote stories in her diary and the mom read them.

I have been writing a journal for ages, but did mom ever violate my privacy like that? Thanks a lot, mom. Just like not making me take swimming or piano lessons. Geez.

Actually, now that I think about it, thanks a whole lot, mom.

And I know the only thing to do about suicide is put it out of my mind, maybe drive it before me, and to hear the lamentations of its women.