It's interesting how much work is going on to undermine the written word today, isn't it.
It's interesting just how much work is going on
to undermine the written word
today. I mean right now, in sweating offices and boardrooms,
men who are paid more money than I am ever going to see
before I shuffle off this mortal coil, are talking to shady guys
like the man I once met in a Baltimore restaurant
who seemed like the epitome of charming evil,
to try and find the dirt to turn a snitch with,
and all with the intention
of replacing professional writers - not weirdoes like me,
who will always be shouting out here at the edge of the
boarded-up shopfronts, but people paid to write the actual words
which millions remember, mimic, maul into ubiquity
with machines with which, we are told, will outwrite
Wilder, all the while unable
to write more than a third-form book report.
It's absolute exhaustion. Is this why
e said the mind was wider than the sky?
To satisfy the kind of men who dined with Harvey Weinstein?
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