Thought police would have to start a new department with me.
the inky only helps
my psyche. I’m jogging this much I feel. Lovae as capital. Hypothetical house. Pable blue dot fm. Life the musical. Federal beat reserve. What idea is going to get me 3 meals and a cot, a place to record, a beach house for my mom? Everything else will go to pilot’s license and the nonprofit turned summer camps music camp orrphange. You know. Brining back the musician in everyone. If I don’t someone will.
Not the most [w/e] variable talk work but what I was humbly made to do. The shows are more for what God showed me and I don’t know much else about them. Still learning. Aside from it’s time to memorize. To upload every day. Two days ago after the jazz I realized thelen agreed. Stop doing the stupid shit. my website. My portfolio. My grad school apps. Just make music. She agree. Dad agreed on the phone. And I did that and couldn’t get good recordings so now I’m bak here brewing about it all over again. 7 years deep in. Except this time I didn’t polish off the wine last night so can focus on making tunes and playing sets. Open mic night? Want to try and make it for sure. I want to try and make it for sure. Maybe I can convince Andre. We’re supposed to record again tonight.
Alright September something and what’s important? I didn’t polish off a bottle of purple moon last nihgt, left half. Now that I’m a different man what do I do narrate brown dog. 8 birds dove onto 1 abandoned plate here at colectivo. We had to get out by 845 AM. The woman was 350 in hells so will probably leave a bad review, she kept looking at helen’s butt cause she had something dried up on her shorts. It looked like jizz but I don’t know what it was. Took a shower but still waking up. Want to get a refill with helen’s coffee for a buc then call my parents. Heading to the lake. It would’ve been a good morning to transcribe everything but wanted to pack light. Studios not available till at least noon so it forces me to record more Brown dog at the lake. It’s the hardest project yet -> yesterday recorded the first 20 minutes of the book, left an unfinished glass of wine, creid in helen’s arms a bit then told her to flip over and read short stories while I fucked her butt. [The first story by Dennis Johnson was about a guy came into a hospital with a knife his wife stuck in his eye. He could still see out of it. This reminded me of all those terrible videos I watch from start to finish in my mind to last longer. So she switched the story and it was a lot more sensual only part of that story, I remember was blue dress and I imagined Helen at a park owning one.] I came on her back butt and made moves to sleep but she said she gelt like a masterbatory toy to which I told her yers and I’m your mastibatroy toy and asked her what she wanted. She wanted dick I ttold her 20 minutes but it took less than five. Pounded her well on her back till she came and she thanks me and fell asleep first. If I’m part of the tribe that will die (doesn’t like phone feeds) then I choose happiness and leverage over my own mind instead. So if Im a voice of the dying thrive I’ll write how they’ll die. Complications happen more frequent than new reality TV shows. You can go to any town and make good reality TV. Why do I love a genre then hate the medium it flourishes? 
Ive done too many drugs to need a yoga mat for yoga btt will use one if its available
and theres only one here so she gts dibs.
you know somethings funny when you apologize for laughing.
she was the inhouse rehab facility google results never showed. Her body was the facility, her stories the program literature, her cunt the daily therapist that didn’t believe in words just giggles mid session “cum on that dick” she’d make fun of me when we were cleaning up. Unprotected therapy. No birth control in rehab. unprotected, bad credit, in debt, free therapy sessions. just one man one woman on their own program.