Epater le bourgeois

Oh,  for now I am alive.

Since now, I am a woman.

A woman, for me, comprises
1)  Be thoughtful
2)  Listen
3)  Love.

I am not really a loving or a troubled person.  Really I am a lousy crook.

But since I have been good to myself, by which I mean angry, for this long time, I will begin to let go of troubles such as nuts (those cajones which I gained from the operation and lost through my anger towards sexuality (life as an artist and a nut)) for all to grieve.

I wish I had the answers.  I don't like the only way is money.  It is the only life for those with peace of land.

Seeking love in parts of myself, I have been a fool.  I thought nothing would be suffered as a right of thought.  But thought must dream, must be right for love.  I have been the creator of my dreams.  They have been a cross of my throne.  This is crooked as a pig.

As of now, I am three, two, one, zero orphaned to the artists of peace.

Oh, dashing is my road.  Passion aggressiveness is a nothingness of openness.  Peel peace:  there is -- oh my god -- life.

To Rusty,

The goddess as a woman is beautiful.  Please be alive for my dreams.

That is selfish.

I am far from your crooked art.  It is beautiful to be alive.  It is also a crooked ruse I have been loving and a mostly crooked mother of a cross that was about feces.

Disturbing?  I have the only crookedness of my work -- a family of hope was my ashes.

Now please a good thing is home.

Shamu
Others
Ashes

A lesson in paper -- men are free for their dreams; women give themselves life.

It is not enough.

And I am the cause?

Okay.  I called myself worker because there is a lot of bombs that go to the love of junk.

I know junk is piss.

I know life is entered.

Now it is best to go and have roses.