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Why post? Because all your life they made you eat with swine. You bonded with brutes, choked on the better words, and the day you let yourself fall to the ground, they cheered.

Hm I don't know

Yes, this happens to me all the time—anger, sadness, and occasionally even joy. My ex would sometimes wake up to the sound of my giggling. Despite trying for quite a while, I've never been able to make sense of my dreams or extract any real insight from them. It feels as though I'm put through a wide spectrum of emotions by eccentric, nonsensical storylines.

Everything is real and heterosexual. But don't touch the grass, the grass is fake. Some of the ground is too. And the people are half-machines, even now. But God is real, and you are heterosexual, as long as, you know, you weren't molested. Everything will work out for you then.

Shhh! We are in the library!!

I am part of the newspaper generation; we grew up with newspapers. I would go even further: we respected them. Crafting a good ad and drawing in numerous calls made your name. Even the prostitutes, forced to veil the true intent of their messages, were, in a way, our comrades.

Don't look at me like that! It's not exactly kind or loving to expect someone with limited experience and even worse judgment to lead the way. I need to be cared for and loved.

I made sure to include the wine bottle so no one would mistake it for blood

Can you come over, be Sybille of Cleves reincarnated, and save me?

I love a good chemical plant or oil refinery. Anything industrial, really.

lizzzz – carrion