I can just do whatever that thing is that I do.
So that means I get to work on writing some shit. Like holy shit yes. Maybe I can… concentrate long enough to… produce something of value?
Motherfucker. I have not felt so fucking excited to live in a long time. I just need this. I need to do this for me. For us. For you…
Umm.. it’s hard to decide the right order to put those words. For you first or me first. But it doesn’t matter…
This is our love story. My love story for you. I will fuck the shit out of myself for you. On the real world stage. And not in any pornographic sense (although that is totally hot and would not be opposed).
All those times you destroyed yourself? That fucking splintering and shattering into a fucking million billion pieces?
I wrote that on October 14. I was so fucking distraught but I needed you. It was a love story for you. I was the girl and you were the mechanical dude. And it’s a perfect representation of us! Well… that fucked up relationship weird thing we have…
In real life I’m the mechanical, material girl. And you’re the ephemeral, figurative anti/inter-sex whatever you want to be at the time. I’m ok with whatever. You dude chick both neither. I never cared about labels because labels are fun! But they’re not definitive… even though they define.
It’s… all of this? Any of this?! Just THIS! It was always because of you. It was always for you, even though I didn’t know it at the time… because that’s just how fucking fate works. You know?
And we just… always seem to function best when we’re together.
I will find all of your pieces. And I will fuse them together with the blood in my chest if I have to. I’m not leaving any thing to chance. I know it to be my destiny. And we’re fucking indestructible until we have completed our destiny… remember? So if this is all of you? Really? (Because I don’t think it is. I know there are more pieces…) then sure, maybe I could die before my birthday.
But I don’t think so. Because I know you. There are still more pieces to put together.
I love you. Please be patient with me. There is such a shit ton of shit to get through. (And I can’t spend every minute wading through shit.. I really really really don’t like poop. But I’d do anything for you.)
Maybe at the end of even before the end, we can figure out the fucking qualia of “that thing that I do”
We can promote it as a product. Permitted my physical self survives this.
I plan to go back and edit this into prettier words. Polish of my idol before I can really put it up on the mantle.
xoxoxoxoxoxvakhdj;vD KNL” I”BgqeCAMBN Sjxv A smashing keyboard in newborn excitement!