Avatar is a bunch of Mishegas
a mysterious island

insomnia is my friend, lunacy my guide



Our arguing about art has always been sexy. You are even kind to the blithering idiocy of people who ignore books and Buddha. I always admired your List for Love Making: cellos, Chinese food and chocolate. It stinks of desire and deviancy. It was eye contact that did me in. Not the promise of feathers, five album long foreplay or the study of god's gluttony. I never complain, insomnia is my friend, lunacy my guide. I take long sighs and I pause often to soak in all the snogging we did inside the manipulation of your mischief. Your movie would be called "nudity", my play "obscurity". I'm writing down your Omni sexuality towards earth since I will never see again. I can only be distracted by pop culture and strange rumors of paradise. I can be completely floored by your screaming solipsism. Suburbia contains us, like we are victims of some underachieving voodoo. It can't be your warm skin that spells weirdness. I will come back to you. Women are not Toys and I meditate against nudity.

Photo by Brittanie Pendleton
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