Hollywood clean up its act? Nah

I think we all love Hollywood. No, I don’t just think it– I know it.

We should say to Hollywood– okay, I loved Charles Manson crap, and the serial killer stuff was cool. Violence stirs me into the inner bejesus of my innards, which I do not want, to still a glow, or a glitter.

Walt Whitman heard a wild winsome Mannahatta, pushing the vaudville of a theatre of cruelty,

Of course, wild women, wild horses, and barren hills, scrub grass, and how you live out here, cook it, cook it raw, or loose, or kick over the silver screen, peek behind,

You don’t see a possum there, but you see the teeth on a possum, looking so much like a mammoth– a tiger. There is food, to the mood, and if that is Black Angus, it is not rood.