I’ll give you the report.
Fortunately, I didn’t go.
I don’t think I did.
I’m not prepared for that brand of debauchery. I already know that universe from a very unique perspective.
I’m happy in this unrefined state. But it’s almost Spring and I’m tired of smelling myself.
So don’t judge. And especially until you’ve stood for two hours pouring copious amounts of [ THIS LOCATION FOR SALE] to the excessively gratuitous tipper, Tom, corporate/university chair of blah sumthin in charge of explaining how they’re holding the door to the Plexiglas Confessional wide open for people to get in, to say dumb shit, that at some point having sex with Umm…
I’m ready to get all the money they’ll willingly let go of!
Tonight was a living epiphany.
One of those consensus deejay vu! thangs.
I can’t be standing nowhere near the vortex caused my Agent X & Milieu in close proximity.
It was them that cause the temporal tesseract in Dan’s backyard.
Wait! And why the fuck can’t I ask for a written, detailed invitation to said festivities?
Why must it always be, “Thanks for dinner-n-shit. UNO Oui Pho King. Right!”
I’m gettin’ sick and tired of inspiring old white men to bring their old assed twentieth century ‘A’ game. And…
…Do you have any idea of the number of decapitated (w)rappers’ jewelry, spilled rose colored glasses, dead baby daddy condom w(rappers) it takes to build a yellow brick road. Diving in the straits for engagement rings like Fijian Pearl Divers.
Once upon a time, I was a poet. But the
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Manifested nothing and I’m a visual tactile artisan.
That dude offered me the chance to see the Queen of my Imagined Nation almost naked in a Yurt in the mountains.
I’ve never stopped w(riting) I just cast that shit on to reality. It’s kind of like magic.
In order for a spell to be cast, it must be read aloud over and over until it’s core meaning is completely understood, by yourself and the consensus of the believing universe. Let’s call that consensus a Party.
Tonight, I went on a site visit to a place I’d been before, in a very similar capacity.
I was lulled by a big butt sexy, duty bound, eat’cho food and, lump all yo peeplez in to one lump then judge yopeeplezathasamedam time. Oh Thank Marvin Gaye for saying first, “I want dat Sanctified Bitch!” With her shoes on, over my shoulders, on top of a wobbly washing machine, with a fried chicken leg in her mouth.” Ice Cold! Nah Nah Nah. My magical blue ass Johnny Vulture, Immo do wha’chu say. Fuck that! I loaned yo ass the keys to that foreign space capsule you bought from the Toad and Boris Bahdinov’s exe wife. You sucked her dick. Didn’t you STFU! Delacroix Peerless? And you see where that’s gotten us. I’m objectifying this G-A-S Church Gurl from the D and Happy to be where ever the fuck she lives I don’t care. Cause unless somebody’s cuttin’ me a big public check. I ain’t goin! And I’ve taken licence to lust that whole sexy round ass bunch of sistahz at Burger King! All of’em look like Zana hand picked them. Especially that one with the diastema, like Jam’s. I know some Baba’s that need to let their Hinx loose on this bunch.
Burger King! Hell Yeah. I know I’m getting the three Esses at the same time.
I’m inspired to pen some pimp shit.
It’s time to party.