Going through my books downtown, I found a copy of Delmar, St. Louis literary magazine. I live a block away from Delmar Ave. I once submitted poems there, by a faulty logic that told me that, since most of the contents were rather banal, I would gain entry with my non-banal poems. But of course the editors obviously prefer the kind of thing they themselves publish. I'd love to write a modern-day Dunciad.

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The war is not what we expected: creepy psych-ops instead of massive bombardments. I predict it will be more or less over in a week.