Because everything starts with food and I want pizza. The other day I had melted ice cream and salt and vinegar potato chips for dinner. Do you think I’m lying?
I have subscribed to a tumblr called “Hot Black Girls.” There are a lot of hot black girls. Mostly they are naked and “spreading.” I’m not a big fan of the spread. Vaginas look like aliens to me. (self-hate?) I am fine with all the boobs though.
Naked black girls. Lots of different tones. Gradient rainbows. I am liking black women more and more in my life. By “liking” I think I mean “attracted to/admiring.” I don’t know why I am telling you this. I am figuring life out one black naked lady at a time.
Lots of discussion about “alt lit.” I sit by the river on a rock and I stare at the river and watch everything floating by. I only take breaks to swat flies away or to study the ground for good skipping rocks. Otherwise I sit, and I watch and I listen. I am also on the river. I am also floating by.
I am eating sugar snap peas. They are certainly not pizza.
Let’s jack each other off in front of a digital fireplace with the soundtrack from Twin Peaks playing on the stereo. Let’s do it with split loaves of French bread around our penises and when we are done we can make sandwiches from the bread and eat them for dinner or lunch. Should I get turkey or ham?
If someone ever used the term, “slice bread” instead of “sliced bread” to me, I think I would hate them.
Seems when I want to feel happy I think about getting drunk in the sun with good music playing. I’ve been noticing this is the “happy place” I keep finding myself returning to. I think this means I want to be an alcoholic with a good tan who likes to dance when I grow up.