Andrea's pain of wealth

Wow.  Today I think I am lonely without aloneness (with itself needing glowering words, actions with peacefulness are beautiful.)

May be there's no way to act with love without acting laughing with your mother.  I feel lonely without her reasons for me to become happy.  She laughed when people thought there was fascism in the pain of making weirdness.

No, she didn't.  Why would I misidentify?

Today Donald Trump is denying his actions.  I believe (speaking from the songs I passionate ly work for) working is pain.

I have to believe that that is a delusion.

Perhaps when I create someone without peace it is me I am making into a drug addicted stinker with no reason to listen for men or their wive s to become happy and strong.  No one is no one here for anyone


I truly need to give a way for my life to listen (PAIN GOES F R

SILLY, I thought I worked hard.

Here I work.

Feelings give you work.  Feelings are free of work.

These contradictory sentences express laughter.

I am trapped behind a wall.

I possibly work hard -- trouble.

I will work hard.

Work hard.

Work is hard.

I work hard.

Work is virtuous isn't it?

I don't know.

I wish this work of words laughed alive.  I wish I could these words sing lovingly to you.

There is a work called drugs I have no work for.

Bob Dylan worked and he is now the Nobel Prize winner.

I know I am lonely.  I know I have no now work.  I inhabit now.  I block it from its own strength.  Please allow this weird place to be free.

This will allow exclamation points!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


No one belongs where bad gods trouble me with annihilation.  Sickness is this threat of destruction.  I misidentify God with a mess called Andrea.

So let us all laugh with Andrea at ourselves.  What would this laughter sound like?

Hee-haw or ho hum?

I am socially superior to her so I must be silent.  Where does my voice go?  Who listens anyway?  Who works hard with me?  Possibly it's you, Dad.