again and again. yet I am still unable to hold
the man I know how to in French or whatever language. I know how to
write a personal statement on Monday but
Monday night + Sunday afternoon = I rap.
here’s a memo taken in mathematics. find the equation
for love power that knocks you down. which is almost never. get it it’s important—
not everything is a real ditty. yes we got fairly decent out of it. the ages
say blow in which is impossible. impossible to look for babies two years now.
and so I change the way I feel. I change the way I feel. I hand over music. it
beats the way writing leaves. we can dance and be only as bad as it beats.
