i am no future princess, no future president .. i’d rather sew the molted skin of memories upon my back, upon my white-tipped hair …. and bathe in the sweat of blue-collar sentiments … trading my paper drawings for green paper of some abstract importance never seemed a substantial reason … i am blind, i suppose, to this sort of displacement of significance …. i thought the self was something one should never give away for mere trifles of earthly fortune ..

every yellow light -sunlight- rolls back upon its negative … everything engulfs itself …. i cannot dip my soul into necessity and monetary compliance without gravity shifting my essence back to its black hole birth … you think this is all a game of simpleton acquisitions …. you are but a planet, dear, in my galaxy, turning round to stare and scarred by brilliance you will never know for fear of self-realization … i understand … denial used to be a friend of mine as well …. i will sit quite content in my topless room, spinning webs of desire that engulf and open me breathing wide and open … pained for my own good sense, godammit, it’s choice in the flesh ….