I am so tired of the internet being down like this. I feel like the lion, staring at the door of the sleeping quarters. What am I doing? Here, in a glass home, the world listening to my love phrases to Musette. Badlands. City scape. Everyone is in Brooklyn.
I feel like there are greater doors that can swing open if I simply let them, seeking pleasure for pleasure’s sake.
There is no one anywhere. Each page gets tossed directly into the flame. Burning books in Southern Utah. Packing your espresso maker for a long haul next to the couch across the entire United States. Will there be someone else to masturbate me there? Someone to catch the sperm in their fluttering ear?
Thank goodness for the warmth of personal quarters. Sometimes you only have time for Twitter.