Elliott Smith reading a poem in 1997 Point A

The poem actually starts at 2:18. This was at the Knitting Factory in 1997. Point A didn't work out, so we moved on to point B which was where everybody was hanging out anyways. At first there was a lot of talk about point C and some speculation about D, and the points after that but as time went by, at point B, this kind of talk just made everybody annoyed. I mean, point A hadn't worked out for anyone except for a couple folks in the past and they just preceded immediately to point C, supposedly. Actually for most people at point B, if you could gain their confidence, they'd privately voice great doubts about A's existence. And the more time that passed at point B, the more suspect even the idea of point A became. Not just for us, but really for anyone, including those people who left. So we trashed point A because it worked great wonders for us in consoling ourselves about the fact that point B had begun to look increasingly like a permanent home for us. Still, there were a few laze-around, dreamer types who refused to cop to point B and stubbornly insisted on A's possibility as well as C, D, E and on out to Z. But this made everybody feel bad, you know, like they were lacking or failing so it was tacitly agreed upon that these people were just crazy and since they wouldn't pledge their allegiance to point B it was hard to accomodate them. But some usefuls eventually made a bit which didn't pay well but seemed to appease them and amuse the rest of us for a while until the bulk of them developed debilitating addictions and died off. Then we were sad but not overly so, and not for too long, because it was these addictions that did them in, not point B, not us. I mean, Christ, we gave them they wanted, which was condescending applause for their little dances and songs, pictures and skits, humorous memoirs, filled with melodramatic and ridiculous nonsense all about points A and C which, come on, you know it's useless if you live in the real world. Shit, i couldn't get anything done anyways because people are always calling me on the telephone saying "We love you Jesse, we love you Joseph, we love you Helmut, we love you Draco, we love you Tricky Dick, we love you Vaughn, Ron, and even Dan, even though he can't spell for shit. But we don't love you, despite the fact that you have no ambition, but because you don't. And we don't either. I could barely keep my own campaign going with all the freaks and distractions from point B, much less drum up some interest in other people's crap about other places. You can't live in a castle made out of sand unless it's got a sand bank that dispenses actual paper currency. I mean, the point is, we live here in the middle of point B, so get with the fucking program. Sure you might ask, what is the program? And i won't really be able to tell you. But i will really be able to run it. And that's good enough for me, because that's the way things are. Point A, point C, point D, T, O, M, A, T, O, E Tomatoe.