You know, dear Madam,  I do not know how I
did it,    I was probably lucky   and I   did not
publish a book or CD   and I even did not arrange
an exhibition of my paintings  - I didn't connect
my life with some powerly dick  -  which know how
to do it -  decides what will be and what will be
not - what he will need from me so as  He will be
underlined with it or healed.
       I had the luck,  dear Madam,  that I can't
make money on what I love.
       And can you  prey on with thing   what you
love ?
       Isn't it a prostitution ?
       Definitely  most  people  it will bring to
prostitution. Who has so much uniqueness in as to
could it manufacture from it every day ?
       Well,  then,  dear Madam  -  a man like me
he must simply look for happiness where it is.
       You understand.
       Recently,       I felt again that huge and
responsible fear when I entered  to the bookstore
- this all I have to read !      It is my duty if
I want to attach to all these artists who entered
to awareness but there is so plenty much of it, I
should go also for exhibitions,      buy literary
periodicals and attend art college,    oh my God,
but I'm so busy with myself  that I probably fuck
       And finally, according to my , Dear Madam,
poet is always naive  - there is no school for us
nor a remote extension.
       You know,    I can not comply the services
because I accept only genius or the truth,    and
the truth is that artworks are mostly  a recycle
 of people who love reading after themself -
       And more  - the wretched artists must keep
theirs brand,     business is necessary,     it's
necessary something to eat,    wives and children
want to go on vacation, some car - just a reward,
because    you're   all  day  long  so  alone for
       Many books and pictures are sold   as nice
furniture   -  on a shelf,    nice shiny backs of
colored editions, brown-orange oil,   nice colors
to the sofa  - a lot of rich philosophers like to
act owlishly and sensibly   -  over here is giant
field for your business Foxy -      
       The geniuses found  in the system are able
to cooperate   -  they will lose something,   but
everything take something  -  the problem is you,
Foxy cos you know how to fuck with it and you are
there enough to infiltrate all the structures ( I
hope,  Dear,  you keeping up  with those my quick
changes of addresses )
       And although   we have long ago   put down
from the walls the dishevelled Santa - Marx - the
class struggle constantly rages  -   rappers will
tell you that we have our art  -  gold chains and
luxury cars, new sneakers and pretty bitches, and
you cocksuckers  fuckin' elite   you can court -
dash on the walls and study atonality    -   suck
together your thin cocks    -   just  as  soon as
finding a couple of dicks,  Dear madam, who feels
they are a group -  immediately they want to have
all their own,  the art,   own poetry   and so it
walks thru the history  - as well as foxies, as a
large group of averages, which dominates  -  they
actually made so much for us  - sometimes you can
not find anything else for long only fox shit.
       Well,   I do not know if it would probably
be annoying and even poor if it is everything was
good and, according to my perception,    probably
yes,    it is also necessary to take into account
the ocean in which it is can sail and look for  -
simplier Foxy, will concoct soft product   which,
however,        at least can lead to a desire for
something of a good quality.
       Maybe Foxy can manage at least a couple of
verses inside or mix the yellow and red in a nice
way and      this will then serve the seeker as a
fixed place,    where can lay foot and glance the
right one direction.
       So we came back to where we were,    Dear,
you see, to the beginning.
       I do not have   a recipe for how to change
this unfortunately,     it's about quantum nature
of foredreamed. I  just  imagined  it   was  very
different, Dear madam,     I have already written
about it.
       It  is  dangerous  to verify   your  drive
       I like the name - Alica  -  this name that
once promised me so much,  but when finally I got
this book in my hand,               I was already
disappointed     -     this is it ?   certainly ?
Wonderland ? Little Prince ?   The catcher in the
Rye ? Lucien Freud?
       Maybe    that's exactly    what  it is, of
course, in too much definition of my the best and
consequential disappointment.