My dog’s dead. My singular inspiration for writing is dead. And my main Betty is jazzying up to a secondary cooz.
Gimme shelter and send me money cuz’ the plane has crashed into the goddam mountain!
So many flushed nights have passed. 5 months? 13 years? The exact date is at this point indeterminable. That tense and bogus afternoon clogged with
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good to know you havent totally abandoned your updates
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rad.
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quit calling people names, i mean jesus christ.
and write more made-for-livejournal stories
my friends page sucks
-lara
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