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"Either this wallpaper goes, or I go."
—Oscar Wilde
"Are you kidding? To forgive that bastard would kill me."
"Who's your friend in the black hood?"
"Do I owe you any money?"
"Make up something witty for me to have said."
"Where's that draft coming from?"
"If anyone calls, tell them I'm not here."
"What's the correct time?"
"I never noticed that crack in the ceiling before."
"I hear this winter's going to be a hard one."
"Hasn't the mail come yet?"
"Cancel all my subscriptions."
"No sugar, I'm on a diet."
"Is the Dow up?"
"I think I could use a little nap."
I don't do entertainment.
Why would a dying man
want to be entertained?
I want to be a perpetual student
of anti-entertainment.
This breathing in,
this breathing out,
not a mass-media event,
but it makes me
my own celebrity.
I want to be entertainment
for others, for the wind
that's bored blowing straight
until I get in its way, or the owl
that hoots at my appearance.
Think of lynchings,
the large crowds
gathered with brimming
picnic baskets
and so well entertained.
Call entertainment
sleeping with eyes open
so that the world
that is no dream
becomes one.