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My room and my shitty film and my dreams about driving

 

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I'm going to see her tomorrow, one and one half of an hour away.
There is a total of two pictures of her in  the possession
of  my mothers side of the family 
and I feel horrible asking to take her portrait when she's in such bad
condition. How could I ever think it was cute that he acted like Bukowski?
 

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What if life is just some hard equation
on a chalkboard in a science class for ghosts
You can live again
but you'll have to die twice in the end
in the end we'll meet again
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I woke up this morning on the living room
floor with a pentagram drawn on my cheek
in marker and I a stye on my eye, and as
soon as I woke I began narrating my
every thought and action as if it would make
me leaving more memorable and some how
also significant. It was common for me to do
this when I was a kid on my birthday except
waking up came naturally and with out headaches.
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I wrote a letter to a wildflower
on a classic nitrogen afternoon.
Some power that hardly looked like power
said I'm only perfect in an empty room.

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I bought my first kitchen table yesterday for my birthday
Coffee cups and ashtrays.  I was also given an assortment
of pots and pans and I finished Beneath the Wheel.
I finished it during my break at work and all though work
I couldn't think of anything except Hans Giebenrath is dead.
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two jobs, college, moving out, waiting waiting waiting
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I'm very glad Billy (1) has allowed me to read her journal.  Interpretations of  death from a ten year old seems to shake me.
The dog is eating again, I still can not.  I drank alone in the bathtub tonight again, I am frightened by tomorrow, it's almost as if my real life starts, the for real thing, signing up for classes, starting my job, getting a new license, getting pictures developed, getting kacky pants.
I too am tired now
Embracing thoughts of tonight's dreamless sleep
My head is empty
My toes are warm
I am safe from harm
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Lisaveta Ivanova listened to him with horror. So those passionate letters, those ardent demands, the whole impertinent and obstinate pursuit - all that was not love! Money - that was what his soul craved for! It was not she who could satisfy his desire and make him happy! The poor ward had been nothing but the unknowing assistant of a brigand, of the murderer of her aged benefactress!
* * *

over the morning hour i went on i came through

or in the evening getting tired of getting tired

i came up.


 

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i feel like a book 

set by your bed

unread in a stack

you forgot that you even had

This morning has started early, and it's pouring. Very gloomy and dark out: I wonder what your doing. Even though I already know. I can't get enough of Paleo or of Coffee, and everything feels very natural, naturally sad.  I'm selling my record player, do you want your records back? I'm keeping your books.  And your t-shirts I have stopped wearing.  My room is clean of any pictures of anybody I've ever loved.   I've got a house lined up so most of the things that remind me of you are in boxes I won't ever be ready to unpack.  But I am happy with who I am.

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Bailey won't touch any water, and that makes me really sad, that that makes me really sad
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O amor envolve uma combinação peculiar unfathomable de compreensão e incompreensão.
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Tirando próprio conjunto começou a ser um hobby que gosto,
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I met a guy  has a good motto on life, and he brought me down to earth after a day of running everywhere today.  I can take down the inspiring "today is the perfect day to get a job" notecard on my door, and quit worry about cleaning everything up.  My grandma told me an extended version of the find a penny heads up make a wish saying, then counted to three and asked me 'Do you got it?', put  it in my pocket and rubbed my back. I wished someone would just come clean out my closet, leaving only one dress, a pair of pants and a t-shirt, when she asked if I wished for good weather tomorrow, I told her no, my dreams were much bigger.  People giggled, and I didn't think it was very funny until now.  I keep getting bombarded with the " art is not a priority"speech .  My mom took that speech further, and began to act very serious, telling me it was an addiction, and I don't have that inner motivation to do things that are nessesary to be done.  I have to admit that If I don't paint for over two days I begin to loose it and thats when I get my "priorties" straight and my head messy.

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I don't want to go and cut my hair
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"Fathers and teachers, I ponder ' What is hell?' I maintain that
it is the suffering of being unable to love." He started to write
Dostoevski's name under the inscription, but saw--with fright
that ran through his whole body--that what he had written
was almost entirely illegible.
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I can't stand to keep that wasp in this cup for much longer
Ginnie Mannox I walk in your shoes.

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