I leave tonight, to leave tomorrow. I'll keep this up as best I can. Read Acker in the sun. The weather is better, the weather is nice. I mention the weather to create harmony between myself and the environment, or incongruity between myself and the environment. So I was told to, in class. Am I pretty now? Am I a writer now? Have I met the requirements? Can I do as I please now? Sure fucking hope so. She, in the story, is about a day or two before leaving with "her lover" and "his son" to Jamaica. I wonder if it annoys you, Reader, if you're even there, what I do in this on going thing. Does its Prose-Poetry-Essay style perplex? piss-off? Does it, hopefully seeming, seeming madness and lack of rigid structure titillate you? or turn you off? I know a few people who'd avoid this. I like to think Im writing this for them. Im going to Missouri. For spring break. Woo. Text can carry how deadpan and lifeless that woo was, sadly. Maybe one day. Im going to Missouri. To some town that people recognize when I mention it to them. I never even fucking heard of the place but I guess it's known in these parts. It's country, apparently. Woo. Fucking great. I'll try to keep this up (I say that a lot) while Im there, but no guarantees. They're leaving, in the story. The kid's a little twelve-y/o shit head. Every time tennis is mentioned in a boo I think of Infinite Jest and Lolita. I need to finish those. One day. Some day. Read Acker in the sun. At the coffee shop there's a barista with shorts so short it's hard to concentrate knowing he's there. The kid almost gets her to drink piss, little shit. Another current arising is motherhood, or the adult-child/parent-child relationship. Oates os crafting something. Im going with my family. Got sick new beats. Whatever. God today sucks, Im sorry, try tomorrow. Try tomorrow, it'll get better.
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