i miss the tarot of my youth the dribbling rain and ruin of my youthful cities being safe in a crowd scared at a bus stop but making it home OK to my toothbrush my mattress and my stupid roommates i miss drinking for drinkings sake and typing for typings sake and being devastated because i was not a genius i miss not being able to delete script sort auto-complete undo and change my mind a million times before ultimately giving up— how pointless all this is i miss the old slow dumb computers—having to print a hard copy just to see what my hands and eyes and groin had wrought i miss not having (now that we all don’t probably have one other than a nightmare) a future and laughing off a cliff like a god damned fool