The bowstring scraped across my arm and I was sure skin and flesh was going to roll off around the string. I was reminded of a cheese cutter. Good thing I'm not made out of cheese. Im made out of meat. If cheese came in a can, I'd eat it over spam.
My shirts:
Jesus probably wouldn't wear those shitty bracelets.
Fuck French Playwrites
English Major... (stop talking)
(clever shirt)
I like Gertrude Stein because I'm fake
Poets
Waste
Margins
(elipsis)
You know what? I don't feel like writing tonight. Whatever. Im totally in the mood for some stream of conciousness, but I have too much work to get caught up like that.
Whatever. Like people read this anyway.
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