I see in front of me a computer screen and a keyboard
I am lost seeing all my literature circulate in front of me, from Jane Austen to John Cheever, from Gibbon on the Roman Empire to the Bible. I am drunk on caramel flavored whiskey.
Is there a compassionate word? In and out God determines ways which are alien to me. See yourself here as a questioner of words and ideas without limit except that of death. Am I upside down to my brother Dean? Am I a bother or is there a path without abuse of the privileges I found when I was younger?
I am four times without words in a film by David France about "The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson.' Wait, I want to show this to my brother.
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