Tuesday, April 3, 2012

He spoke to god

I live with my feet on the ground. I have never misappropriated luck for grace. A child has died, but you think that god saved your junkie ass. Your pretentious egomania goes deeper than I originally imagined. Pull your head out of your ass-like bubble of a world. I have yet to find anything original in your work. You can photocopy the Mona Lisa all you want, but you merely have a lower fidelity version of a shity painting. I'd rather stare at "Dogs Playing Poker" for eternity. Supposedly, as far as you're concerned I have too much time on my hands, but you dive into the same mediums you scoff. Run south old man because you will get no apologies from me. Obviously you need more positive attention but I cannot help you there. I thought that I gave all praise that I could give. If a steak looks good but tastes like the chewing of rabbit turds why give five stars for appearance. A beautiful woman is beautiful, but if she has not showered in two months the odor stands out. It does not negate her beauty she merely needs a shower. You should have thanked me for trying to ensure that you do not embarrass yourself further. While standing on the corner, screaming like a preacher on psychedelics you should not claim to speak for others. I thank you for the affirmation of power you give to my writing. It means a lot to me. The subject is subjective in the first place. I live with my feet on the ground.

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