so eventually the morning comes, & you look over what you've ejaculated. scan the print-babble that wine coaxed out of you through honest means. & there is some predictable stuff there. me talking about race without context? i still think its funny. my trying to laquer context on? so half-wrought. i stand by my overall mojo: race is imaginary, gender is real, so lets talk about chicks. right. thats all that about the mundane shit. but when i see myself breaking up almost in tears over the whole 2/3 thing? all i want to do is clone myself twice so i can go pick myself off the ground. shower him with tinsel & at least work on holding it together. so rael, hurry up & be born! if your jesus, i'll fucking kill you. if you ain't, don't bogart the clone tubes, homie.
The packing last Thursday went well, thanks to ingenuity, hard work and a genetically-perfect Boy Scout specimen friend. that last part is me!