April 29th, 2019 - Poetry

Dear TNY,

I didn’t finish “Poetry” and I see no reason why anyone else should either.  In fact, I’m unclear how the author was able to scrawl approximately 5900 words to get to the “end” of this “story”.

Guys, I’m exhausted.  There’re bigger things going on in my life right now and I just can’t stomach this complete and total waste of fucking paper.  What’s worse, I could have nothing going on at all, just staring at the ocean pondering the absence of thought, and I still wouldn’t finish this trashscape. 

On this read, I might have made it close to half way.  What derailed me?  Well, the exposition 1) existed, 2) was thick and cumbersome, and 3) was some meandering riff on existence and death that was self-indulgent enough to cause me to retch in my mouth a little (yeah, I did skim ahead to the ending to see if something happened; spoiler alert: not a goddamn thing did).

So, once again you are bringing a hardcore, TNY, lack of anything resembling literature, dumbing down an important artform that means a lot to a lot of people that aren’t pretentious magazine hawkers, mouthful of hot garbage, “short story”.  Bangin’, you dickfaces.

Fuck off,

Nick