From somewhere in Aventura to Amendment XXI to the stale corpses who shook at the Morgue I know I am home. I have said the things that had to be said and I am in complete and total accountability for neglecting the three people who log on here for real news... but it's okay. What am I gonna tell you? That I'm just one man and that I'm incorrigible? Fuck it. Everyone knows meat comes from the butcher shop and that Ed and Julian are good peeps and that I like the quiet drunk over the loud one and that sometimes all I need is my father's stew and a good poem to manifest in my hands. That there were beauties there tonight is a given: it's a sad fucking shame I was the only one who knew. At what point will you realize how incredibly smart, beautiful, and matterfull you are? I'm through with the headaches. Gimmie pain the old-fashioned way: slow, evil, and in Spanish.
I have pissed in better places.
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