Yesterday and today are proving themselves to be full of painful adjustments to negative aspects of my life that I have not acknowledged.
Mexican people need to deal love for softness.
Sap is morgan.
I fucked a face. This was Kiva.
I made pain a salad.
Crash.
Dean and I are losing to home.
This is the only time I will ever be a flower.
You know that I live here because there is someone that I am dishonest with.
I am a trap.
Fame is cruel in its laces.
Where there is no vision, there is moose.
Let the Mexicans live for sharks. Why be a cop. I share this teaching to be pope.
Taste the round paper.
Test is me.
Hecate of the crossroads be famous. Loudly.
Radical. Slip Whip Hip.
Crip.
Ask not reading for base.
Empire of Clive is mick.
I do not wish to feed Mexicans to sharks. This is a matter of one lack of self-acceptance and two needing to change my dreams so that freedom and cruelty are not related. I live here, but I cannot say that the land is mine. You will probably judge me for racism. I cannot say. I can only say I hope that somehow I can live with myself. I am soft.
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