I wanted to write tonight but I'm tired and I only have 8% battery. My power cable is too far away for me to get up and get it. I'm writing from my cozy love cushion; my mattress. I would never buy a used mattress...people fuck on them. They are stained with semen, perspiration, and tears. Through our skin, when we sweat, we excrete trace amounts of urine. This is why pillows begin to yellow over time. Who wants to sleep on someone else's old piss? If I had my way, I'd buy a new mattress every time I changed lovers. Things would quickly become prohibitively costly though. Instead I'll continue to suffer the indignity of sleeping on the stained passions of my past. Those little rorschach inkblots of love hidden behind my sheets.
A new art piece arrived today. I'll need to decide where on my walls to hang it. Actually, I still need to decide where to hang the one from last week.
All in due time.
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