Repeating himself — the ultimate lost opportunity. The adolescent melodrama extending its long shadow deep into your twenties. Your sideburns growing into  beardhair, turning gray. She’s cartwheeling on a rail-thin indie-dude galleon bridgeing Philadephia to Brooklyn. Good luck up North. Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry

One thought on “breathmilk

  1. quilty Post author

    there are no great fat artists. Frank Black is not an artist — he is a songwriter. There are no great fat boyfriends. Charles was cruel to you; you just won’t admit it. Sex is a knife removed from its sheath in the flourescence of a pawnshop. Blink your eyes twice — and buy it! Just kidding


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