you are my ducati
Sunday morning opulence, embodied in the embarrassment of having had to request clarity ;
What does it mean when someone tells you, me, “Look, I’m writing this fucking novel thing and I’m looking for an interesting muse to fuck and have some fun with for a while. Just one, I’m not a huge man slut or anything. You just seem to look like exactly what I would imagine that to be ya know?”
my fingers smell of slinky salmon
Dancing for my snake to Ciara’s “Body Party”, doing an awkward burlesque dance to Madonna’s “Secret” (Edit) I realize I am the Jennifer Lawrence of burlesque and also a fine conduit of culture.
But it’s true, Andrew Durbin is absolutely correct in saying that “Ride” is consequential.
Don’t worry – if it’s a legitimate hurricane, the ecosystem has ways to try to shut that whole thing down.
He’s restless in his cage, the damned thing.
Too many soliloquies serving as reminders of self.