I am astonished by the great amount of “onanists” that so strive to write poetry in my country. Instead of making sex, they write poems…I beg your pardon: copy poems/ adapt poems. And when they make sex, they write so disgusting…about their fucking experiences, uninteresting and uninteresting and uninteresting and uninteresting…
Well…there’s nothing uncanny about that: Romania is one of the most exciting countries in the world. Except that it’s full of perrots (the way in which the word “poets” is spelled in Romanian). Why? They are so afraid of being alone…poor little childish-poets. They prefer on-line communities or other forms of “not/being/alone”. They practice there “brainsucking”. Not to talk about Messenger…they can’t live without it. That’s the fucking Romanian poet: a lazy dude who wants to be appreciated for his talent; a lazy dude who didn’t even finish his studies. Bleah!!!
