Buk, our guest, gets his pen to paper in a moment of lucidity

Buk and the right to be understood.

I've often been asked, well educated and ravenous journalists, now that I no longer have to struggle at the post office, but can pay for my own sweepstakes and drink with my own pen, whether my insensitivity, denoted by my passion for sex and the glass, are for real, or just for show.
Well, once and for all, beat generation or not, Miller or Keruac or whoever they were, my Spoon River is this! Why bother interrogating me whether it was or will be, if we could or shall…Come here honey, kiss me, put up with my long whiskers and appreciate my weaknesses, these are what make me unique, your keepsake, that, maybe one day, you will even mourn.
This is my sensitivity and freedom, to have dug through the mud finding a reason to live.
You lot, go on producing, burning, skinning each other alive, but leave me here, with my perpetual, convinced, apparent, insensitivity..come here Linda, uncork that white and pour it carefully, Old Buk won't betray you.