i’m getting nervous. no. i am nervous. nervous? am i being poisoned? what the hell is in this! and i forget what i’m supposed to say, “i’ve got two sets of headphones, i miss you like mad.” will you come and bake cake? bake cake. hm, or knit me a sweater–no, knit mittens, then match the sweater. but then there’s pumpkin cake to make. and then there are the barns upstate, the barns my friend builds that i want to live in…but i can’t, yet….i am, as it were, a displaced urban farm. urban farm? why, pray tell, are there not farms in brooklyn? why do i smell burnt toast….i think my roomie just burnt some toast. hopefully its organic whole wheat toast, lest the fumes kill me with processed food toxicity, ahem. bowery, the bowery doesn’t make me nervous. fires, i like fires, but they sometimes make me nervous. you, you rotten cabbage ear. yes, yes you are mr. rotten apple of 1975.
–adoringly and admirally yours from now until september,
Miss Spiritual Tramp of 1948
ps- get your shot mesh in the bird cage before the bullseye
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