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Does the fact we live on a fucking PLANET in SPACE blow anyone else's mind on a fucking daily basis?
Bras take so much energy to put on and take off. They should sell ones with a clap on/clap off mechanism.
3 year old nephew: "I wanna eat magic for dinner!"
Tonight I lay down as a fox with feathers caught in its jaws. Naughty and self-satisfied and pleased with spilled blood.
Dear Twitter, please validate me like my father never would.
The moments during the day when you remember, with surprise, that you're alive.
I wish I could dive headfirst into this cup of coffee and swim there, warm and buzzing with energy. A sugar and cream dream.
I find secret pleasure in the way my tits bounce when driving over a bump in the road.
No matter how busy my schedule, I always find time to lose my mind.
I had a poem for a heart, but paper & ink were just too flimsy. So I carved one from bubble gum & faerie floss and now it beats with whimsy!
Masturbate is such an ugly word. Can't we call it something else, like 'putting sprinkles on my icecream cone'? Side note: SO MANY SPRINKLES
In later years, I will write: she was my precious, fragile flower, growing alone in a secret corner of a shadowy, enchanted garden...
Fog rolled out, burped from Earth's round belly, making bleak concrete cemeteries out of vast and emptied cities.
I've grown so adept at shortening tweets to the required 140 characters, I'm sort of overwhelmed by how long I can make regular texts.
i want to live in a small underwater cottage made of seaweed, motherofpearl, green & blue seaglass. with a garden of anemones and seahorses.
Self-imposed isolation and exile. Retreat to the cocoon or spiderweb. Silk spun from wicked things, doomed things.
But we meet in dreams for dark woodland frolic, touch soft wet noses gently, vixen kissing. Scurry into foxholes to whisper stories&secrets.
A broom, a smart-mouthed black cat, a plum-coloured dress, clear night skies, the ocean, jewel-speckle lights from planes, yesyesplease!
Endless dreaming! they said. Constant believing! I replied.
June. Green womb with sunlight peering in-- through? White rice, glass of milk. Kafka on the Shore, margins inked, left open on unmade bed.
19 year old eternal sleepyhead. I like vaguely sad indie films, taking my pants off, and starting what I can't finish.