
Postcard from My Bender
But more on our sexless lesbian relationship next week.
Girl Insides
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But more on our sexless lesbian relationship next week.

This poor dead horse, for fuck’s sake.

The torture is forever.

If I killed him, nobody would blame me.

And anyway, nobody can save me from myself.

If everything is narrative, nothing has to be felt completely!

And by the time dinner is over, I feel like Paz de la Huerta.

Sex and a joint regardless.

Still, would kill for a klonopin.

What's happening now has long been foreordained.

I dry off and quit fantasizing.