some folks give you a hard-on with their intellectualism,
some folks don't.
it's been a while, things aren't worth writing about. i suppose they are being that my life is a complete mystery to everyone. i guess that's me, a mess. what the hell am i doing?
bakery, but deciding to become some form of boyscout camp person. yes
long nights, longer days, memory that fades, words that cease to remove themselves from my mouth. there are words there, but i can't get a hold of them. what to do? what to do:
run for your motherfucking life.
why don't we spell it sleap?
Saturday
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