juicy. between your legs is juicy.
a morning, i rode passenger seat in a white 90's convertible down the Eastside stretch of Sunset Boulevard. She drove like a Holly Golightly movie character, carefree. My head a bit above the windshield. Hair blown. Sex blown. What else do future generations want to read about anyway.
And let it be known like Van Gogh I believe in my art much in the same way he did. No matter. No matter. Even if I haven't gotten into my best shit. I haven't yet. I know it. Here is color.
I won't live in a police state. That actor said on twitter today that we do not begin as police property. I loved that. A twitter essay. Who would've thought. Another planet like Earth. Seems silly trying to own a piece of it, kind of like here. If I claim beachfront property on that planet like Earth, isn't it as silly as this one. Isn't it cruel what people think they own. Isn't it cruel how people act cruel about inane things like color and culture. Can't people keep their hands to their fucking selves unless asked otherwise. Stop being cruel.
Besides, the only cruelty I find excusable is the kind that bubbles inside the heart from being in love.
And this wasn't yet my best work.
