F Day

Fap. Flowers. Figs, fourteen. Four Fuji.

I would offer the term “wankers” as this provides the idea of self pleasure and gratification towards very little ends. The writing the writerly but in its act its readerly. Confused notions of nonproductivity. Boundless unchained privilege and ego. Something for everyone to aspire to be. A healthy dose of self-love.

Called by Kaito. He got 2 pork buns. Broke up with his girlfriend for work reasons and now he’s working hard. Mitch is fat. Kaito is driving. Where is all our time and effort going? Where is our inspiration. Binaries, chat, solutions. CONFLICT.

Conflated. What’s your address? Tell me, why are you so hard to pin down? And the kids, the people are lost. Why do I waste to spend my time. Friends. Family. Funruns. And to be a part. I am apart. A the first. F the seventh. AF – As Fuck.

Fitness, first. Family feudal. Frost. Final. Frank. Frail. Foil. Folk. Fall.
Full -graphic.

Shower, washitallaway. Royally tired, lying awake, eyes closed, mind racing, rolling in the dark swells of feelings. Systematic redress.

A woman in a reddress. The aftermath. Postchristmas. Unwrapped lids. A frozen head of my seven deadly sins. Coy. Cradled. Courage. Fear. Manipulation of many.
Aliteration attention. A1. Bullshit rankings. Ranging for loss and hegemony.
Yellow and purple tags lessen my love for all this writing.
LOGOCENTRISM. Hear my words resonate. Speak my writing and feel its power.
Missing marks. I fail the civic structure and surpass ideology.

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