Quit bitchin-
And fucking write, but say,
You have no idea what to write,
It’s okay,
So you read books,
(or at least pretend to)
and remember to mark the pages
where you sliced that piece of text
from the author’s take of  the definition.

It’s as easy as a piece of cake.

Steffie just had a dinner party with her grade school friends,
one looked familiar, so you clicked on her profile page
to find hey, she used to live two blocks away.

Friend request sent. Back to the game.

The whole masquerade of lifting passages out of context
Has become a routinary and brainless activity
for the sake of compliance.

But well,
‘I’m just trying my best to
expand the body of knowledge
in my field of study’,
my ass-

‘What is the relationship between
cigarette smoking and academic writing?’,
my ass,
and proceeds to quote
Freud and Nietzsche-
and Vonnegut, and all other
drunk-and-cigar-laden writers,
and of course, thinkers.

Let’s not forget Hemingway.

Ernest Hemingway, the bear among men,
downs whisky like Jesus turned wine into water-
hairy arms and lean, powerful writing,
deer hunting and in tumblr, he might say
fuck you and quit bitchin-

So you go back to write your thesis statement as you mentally skin a deer.


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