Distraught to the point of even more thee ole boozeroony over my latest month-long inability -- man, this is getting fucking wrinkly and decrepit with a side of walker and cataracts -- to pen a single line of worthwhile verse and shut up brain because I know exactly what you were going to say, I was heartened by an omen, a portent, a message from the gods themselves:
Barcelona 2, Manchester United 0.
What does the Champions League final have to do with my writer's block? Simple.
unfettered capitalistic hubris, contra the victor,
always thinking of the children.
Isn't that beautiful? Sniff.
I won't give up, Zombie Jesus, I won't ever give up!