a project of skill-less and dead-author labor turned dead-text turned dead-reader, love
affair with space, some cloud to influx information without regard for human eyes. &poetry
Saturday, November 19, 2016
with death, masked. we should be more nonchalant & we sprung
but, if we're gonna die anyways, if our world is ending, if our bodies are wrong, we should just make out, even. fuck. instead of crying and masturbating every night to mixtape club circa 2008 and remembering when we had Obama-fate
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