Friday, September 16, 2005

2/1/7 PM – ride home
What a lot of crap I write.
Get more from life. My phone tells me “GET MORE FROM LIFE.” Fuck you, phone. This is all I want from life.
I have no idea what I’m going to write next, I put pen to page just because, I was, just staring, seafaring, comparing, youthful faces to memories, a distant memory a leaf on trees, thousands of flickering lights and grasping one no reason why. We turn. Discern. Mountains. Fountains. Magical mons, sentence fragments, fun ons, ever anons. Crap. Rat trap. Sattrap. Bitch slap. Mishap. Blah.

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