Promote

Violent questions find peaceful answers. Who knows if I agree,
but those are the words I put to paper, dawdling on
the resolution—my dear sunrise oath—to go to bed on time.

I found the word “violent” in The New Yorker, the last issue
that I received before I cancelled (the article is about
the attempted assassination of Thatcher and her government),
and on another line I saw “questions”. So then I thought,
what aphorism could I piece together that I should expect
to bring me fame and fortune as a tweet, a pithy declaration?

Which one would land me gigs in Hollywood as a writer, or an actor,
or if I dare dream big, an executive with a high-rise office
who picks and chooses what the Jones shall watch, the meta-art
that I have sought since taking LSD; or show me some deep
insight (n.): view of the kaleidoscopic world contained?

Unfortunately, it has not done much good on either front at all,
though now I am near the bottom of this page in my notebook
and managed to write with nothing on my mind at all. The end.