i can't keep this up.

[Alan Sondheim]

i can't keep this up.
if i could only pour words into this.
i could have a machine that would make art pouring out the other end.
i need words... words...
i'm desperate for words... letters...
i live in furious depression.
yes, who would want to listen to this one more time.
i need that machine and a machine to read my mail.
then a machine to write my mail.
it's not a hunger for words but a need for them.
i'm not addicted to them, i'm addicted to production.
even a sonnet machine would do.
there's nothing but words in this world.
perhaps a machine is writing this and a machine is reading this.
i don't know about machine, i know about input, words, paragraphs...
the greater their number, the greater choice.
i'm stopping, i can't keep this up, no advise, nothing.
no words, desperate.


up. this keep can't i
this. into words pour only could i if
end. other the out pouring art make would that machine a have could i
words... words... need i
letters... words... for desperate i'm
depression. furious in live i
time. more one this to listen to want would who yes,
mail. my read to machine a and machine that need i
mail. my write to machine a then
them. for need a but words for hunger a not it's
production. to addicted i'm them, to addicted not i'm
do. would machine sonnet a even
world. this in words but nothing there's
this. reading is machine a and this writing is machine a perhaps
paragraphs... words, input, about know i machine, about know don't i
choice. greater the number, their greater the
nothing. advise, no up, this keep can't i stopping, i'm
desperate. words, no


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