I am what they call in the business.

That’s it, there is nothing else.
Using things inappropriately is my forte (with an accent).
For example, one time I used a text-editor programme
to woo sexual favor, internationally.

“Did you really love her? Did you did you?”
people keep saying these things to me,
not realizing that they are completely
missing the *whole* point.

The point is not about some kind of cheap
male chauvinist pig pleasure.
I’m not like this just to declare myself —
I’m like this because I’m trying to eat a noodle with a spoon.

Only some people realize what I’m doing,
and none of those people ever give me any love.
They label me, tag me, like I’m some kind of corpse
flown into the morgue by helicopter.

They don’t realize that *I* was the one landing that chopper
on that building rooftop, precisely upon the letter ‘H’.
I flew my own body back home, thank you very much.
Don’t need you losers to do everything for me, nor your ‘lovely precious little children’.

Making love to electrical sockets is never easy,
but it is zestful, full of life and more fun than,
say, managing all your time every night in dream state,
waking up fresh. All that is so overrated, and not good.

If it’s my dream, then let me dream it.