dearest marc.

i am writing you an epic letter. epic i tell you. and i tell you how epic it will be WITHIN the epic letter. i just wanted you to know that in the coming days of writing, you should be gripping your inner thighs in anticipation, like a little child waiting for a cookie. what? you didn't sit cross legged and latch onto your inner thighs? in anticipation? well i did. do. thus whatever your body does in times of extreme anticipation, do it. it's going to take these days because i have a lot to go over. and time is sometimes the best author (ohyeahit'sfilledwithshitlikethat). and whilst this happens i have mind blowing conversations like this -and we're all victims of it, instead of letting that genuine openness allow actual functional relationships that are discovered instead of built- going on. it'll trickle in, to be sure. i've got citations, references to those citations, re-citations for those references, and talk of siring children. because i love kids, and siring is a damn fine associative word. agreed, non?

this is how i burn that self destructiveness up.