on the space colony i live in, which exists in the dreams of the untouched and lonely – every 50 years the impossibly powerful solid state drives that hold every piece of good art and every book from most of recorded history are backed up and recycled and replaced with new
american fiction writing
clarice and i were eating samosas in the 4-20 parking lot and listening to signore wizard's weekend disco show on 68.8. i was on speed so i could hear clarice's chewing, it was getting slower so i knew she was about to say something and she did. "have you
the only winning move is not 2 play and u still win fucked up prizes even if no one answers fucked up questions r still asked i've seen the ugliest thing. i've heard the ugliest word. i've felt the ugliest feeling. i've tasted the ugliest lamb. i've smelled the ugliest
wht could be better than this? my nissan skyline R33 going 123 MPH on the highway. im listening to the best peter rauhofer remixes. im wearing one of those tommy hilfiger teddy bear sweaters over a stussy button-up. i got a haircut earlier that day. the taste of caffe nero.