stop it everyone just stop it

I am an avant-garde

I woke up in the morning and told my friend Robert that I am an avant-garde

He asked what an “avant-garde” is

So I pushed him down a well

I am the dictator of a red planet

The red planet is avant-garde

Everyone on the red planet rides a white bicycle

They do that because it makes me laugh

When I see someone riding a white bicycle

On a red planet that is avant-garde

It feels like I am eating cherries

I ask Sue, my assistant, to fetch me some in a bowl

She replies that it is impossible to do so

I ask her “why”

In addition to that I am angry

Perhaps my fist clenches and I smash it on the table

She says that because the whole planet is avant-garde

It has no momentum or reality beyond my plain narration

And the concept “a bowl of cherries” does not exist

Because it was not already explicitly described

I lean back in my chair and cry

My tears taste like grapefruit

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