In quintessential triviality for years in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt.

_{"I was looking for a job and then I found a job, and heaven knows I'm miserable now.
In my life, why do I give valuable time, to people who don't care if I live or I die?"
--MORRISSEY}

If this is what you have given me, America, then I opt out.  I must have somewhere to spit my vitriol. A 10 hour day where I see no daylight, where I am one in the line of hundreds on the freeway, when I have learned to taste bitterness and feel revulsion at the sight of others, of the many, of the faceless on my way to where I'm going...always going and never getting there. I will have this job in order to get another, I will go to this school to get into another, I am always pushing forward! Forward, America!

Where we hundreds swallow pills because we cannot think, it is too troubling, where we are tough and we are not unhappy, we are imbalanced; there are certain criteria one must diagnose, here, it is all listed in this diagnostics and statistical manual, it is an illness, after all. It has little to do with external factors, more of a inclination toward disorder, you see, it is inside your head, you know, and your childhood. Where was your smothered childhood? In the schoolhouse built exactly like a penitentiary, no exaggeration or lie, under sickly yellow fluorescent lights watching a transparency screen? Did your parents scream every night? Do you avert your eyes from them? Do they avert their eyes from you? You were made to not care. Must we turn everything sterile? Must everything be given to regulation, to reproduction on a massive scale, ones and millions in the same docketed household, taxed and filed? America, I am bored, and I am tired of your demands. Must children wear ties? Must fifth graders study and worry about PSATs? Must we excise all knowledge and condense education to a neat and tidy test?  Why must everything, even personality, intellectual capacity, be codified? Numbers, results.

<sub>Intellectually, Ms. Sheehan has above average mentality and has excellent abstract reasoning skills.  She is comfortable and skilled in concrete reasoning but prefers to deal with more hypothetical ideas.  She is extremely well read and has excellent reading comprehension.  She responded to the test in a manner that reflected her wide range of knowledge and background information.  Finally, she has an exceptional ability to separate essential from non-essential information.  Ms. Sheehan works best when challenging her mentally in her work environment.  If required to work with mundane tasks for a lengthy period of time, she may become quite discontent due to the absence of mental challenge.

Verbally, Ms. Sheehan has excellent receptive and expressive vocabularies.  She is in the top quartile in her verbal fluency and her scores are reflective of persons who are superior in vocabulary capacity.  She has been exposed to words that are used in the workplace as well as social circles.  She can be extremely persuasive due to her verbal understanding and is able to communicate exceptionally well when she so desires.

Ms. Sheehan tends to be slightly apprehensive and concerned.  This internal stress will make her appear fearful, worried, uncertain, and troubled.  Individuals like Ms. Sheehan will look beyond probable outcomes and fret over the less likely, though maybe critical, situations.  This small degree of uncertainty can sometimes promote depression, internal tension and nervous behavior in the workplace.  Individuals like Ms. Sheehan who are at times apprehensive may be occasionally plagued by feelings of incapability and inadequacy.  It would be suggested that Ms. Sheehan try to seek hobbies or interests which will promote further confident and secure behavior.</sub>

Here is where we glorify mediocrity, where I step into the half-million, million dollar house and find no art, and very little books,where we are stuck in our chairs, using our minds but to keep up the movement of numbers that gives our lives sustainability, a means. Even independence. I say, when I get a receipt from the bank, those numbers do not adhere to me, not like my spit, they do not build anything, not like my hands, and it hurts to wonder, what else can I do? We are so settled in our ways, even I cannot imagine them differently, I am too comfortable, too fat, so fat, just like everyone else, and those who have learned only to laugh at the situation, laugh and point satire. How can one laugh? Or have you become efficient? Have you become only motion without thought? I have grown until I feel nothing but hate, and sorrow, in chopping bouts almost too hard to take. With these excesses, we are all driven to distraction.

America, why must you always operate via the hypothetical? Why must the nebulous be the final rule? Why must green numbers in a constant scroll dictate the sway of our minds, our worries, our lives? My grandfather's house flooded, he is 80 years old and so worried he had a heart attack because, as I ask myself, asking as if everyday were a disaster, what else can I do? Where there are bayou dotted by bright blue tarps, the makeshift homes of the homeless, where those that are bereft have been given plastic trailers, egg cartons, to ward off the rain. Is this like your levies, America? You do not support those who live behind your walls, who huddle at your feet. And because government has failed we all decry it, we all hear the rallying call, the less government the better!, but when has it ever been that when something has failed us, America, that we dispose of it? When have we become so careless? So unforgiving? So devaluing of life? Having left those huddled under tarps, under bridges? Having wheeled out those unable to pay from our hospitals? Having passed by huge dead bears on our highways, rotting carcasses, sticky blood and bristled black hair baking under the sun? When have we forgotten what we have? We can still salvage it.

When the constitution was made, was it not made for modification, for renewal, for the words to be resealed in ink with new agreements? It was not made to be discarded with the apathetic cheer of a reductionist, eager to relinquish what we have. Because it is easier to stop. It is easier to stop caring, to move forward as is, as reconsideration only hampers progress. Because it is more proficient to move forward rather than look back, to face the horrors, to bear them, and right them.

Let us just say, this was inspired somewhat by a far better poem.

Seeya later Allen Ginsberg.

America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
from Russia.

I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.

Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and
twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.

America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they
sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the
workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party
was in 1935 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother
Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have
been a spy.
America you don're really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.