Evidently, due to an untitled usury - age-old, malformed and discontent (or the blur, the paper-fold, the diatribulation) - I have to start with a capital letter. Effort ... and all in sunlight, too. Bother to read me; bother to in-read me. I am not boo hoo, through subtle, with my sexuality destroyed at a stroke. Who will I survive this time? My actual name starts with a capital letter. I don't need your consigns and self-making. Upon my ego, I wear my boots. (That concept, that construement, that spectral conversion.) Your non-acceptance, your way of thinking, is not so much beyond them, as mommy tells. The art of seduction seems to be missing.

What shame awaits? How nice it would be.

No comments:

Blog Archive