The way she wrote was something for, perhaps, another age altogether; an age wherein everything needed to make upside down decidedly… concentrated sense – in one such jovial, multi-emotive, spark-out-loud sense – without ever drenching the souls of their once-upon-a-literary beings. Been there, done it all, bought both worn ‘n’ wasted the mothereffing t-shirts – scribbles with only too many rules to count themselves gently in. Again. Ridiculed and riotously fair valiantly fallen to the slaughter. Starts right here and never back toward authentically inept, pl-ease

That shit stinks of overpaid fingers inside of oversized factories – namely, James P**terson & Bill bloody Clinton
And, basically, that’s it… that is all that she wrote from here on in electrified

By a far more radiant life.

Away from the page, about to wage

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