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Text messageing the universe.

I stained my finger with the purple potato in the soup that laura made. i thought she talked to me this morning while i was sleeping for like 14 hours (again), but it turns out that was yesterday. Time-space continuum, totally bent outta shape, baby.
Day 17 of everything sucking my balls... i feel like my dad... and my mom, too... stupid pre-programmed mind consciousness system locked in the grid line matrix. stupid stars and moon moving the water of my soul just slightly to the left not enough to see, but just enough to make you feel slightly uneasy...
i can't even sit in the chair long enough to write.
Just like bloomer doesn't want to be one of those people with allergies, i don't want to be one of those people with back problems.
Oh, pot/ultimate cheeseburger/wine/chocolate/soup, you're my only real friend.
angela at ten pm yesterday, in the nest, with 2 liter of diet pepsi and pot pink shirt, green pants, all disheveled... angela at 2pm today... now empty 2 liter of diet pepsi bowl now blackened again in the pipe, ash stained pink shirt green pants... even more disheveled...
"What is my purpose here? what is my existence for?" i open my phone and stare at the screen with this picture of an island beach.
"i don't know why i'm looking at my phone for the answers to the universe."
How do you text massage the universe?

Comments

how?

i think you just did.

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