My Natality Is Your Fatality
I was sangfroid and so I sang Freud and dragged out joints of cliché—say we, may we accept sherry? Manegg was born innately. Let me put an end to son envy and colonialism with natalism—that was my intention, ambition. Nevertheless, I stand up to urinate and wave hello in my halo of amniotic trance. Ugly egg, chicken-sized, and natally late. At any rate, you have one (or several). It’s not so much that it preexists or comes ready-made, although in certain respects it is preexistent.