Grace Note To Self Delusion

To whom it may Con,

My turn now terrorist. The 5th storey of one of my inanities. S. For a longer time, i Broastered i was the doctor of all passable abstract landscapes. H and i thought crime the ingrate figure nine of modern painting. And poetry were laughably ableist

Does a threat Centrelink these ids? Lets get covfefe are showing. Send in the feeling: kinda free.

The suicide towers are goners now, reduced to bloody trouble, along with all Hype of peas in our time.. the plane was to eat the rich…

Lions and tigers and bears o

My Self, im at my witty end, just listening to Let Lose The Reins by The Get Up Kids. With the west of my time, ill never be financially sober.

I slave away for the same Amurican Dream as anyone else: a three bed room terrorist house in Newtown, where its meaningless to eat Frank O’Hara.

So, who put the cannibals in the donation bin? It could have been John, he is like that, after all. Queerly, the whole can of coke with you thing is a get down.

Its well hot in the city. I smell like i mean it lots. I hope to be as criminal as any ism

Enter the cheat coat glistens. Am i to become as prolific as if i were Blomz? Or – terror loomed, a head.

Bonham Carter is up the stares across the road selling out of office jobs the purest myth in sydney. Im a false flag, this is friendly file under bling.

Ah, this Kmart on my back!! But why regret the Everlast in g sun? Petty cash.

Sometimes, in the Skye i see endless sandy sures covered with white, reJoycing notions. The stairs fell one by one into his ice and burnt

Tongue. I dont think, therefore i am the leased cult of all poets. I admiral you, beloved, for the traphouse youve set. Its like a fifth storey nobody reads about because the murder plot isnt over. It has an agent orange bet in it, more than the era can hold.

Yes. You and your fried from high skool word document the fall of men. I dont need your alchemical bromance.

And o, im so Glad the revolution’s *theyre. Stuck in a creative slum, im chasing a P. So, yes, im getting ample excise.

Made Marx: Fuhrer Road. No cents within sheets, but millions in the Streets.

I lie, therefore i am ashamed of my century. But i have m&ms, 8 mile. And the grace to be killed, and live off it as variously as plausible.

One of these days, there’ll be nothing left with which to venture capitalist forth. Interest rates rise like lions.

For shore my heat is boken. Let’s split

Up matthew flinders of self. Same. Lets get enraged asap.

Yrs unfaithfully,

T2xas StYX VisCoUs Fontanella

Ps. This fonts nutella