I quit smoking cigarettes.
Romantic ideations of death.
Thinking of the paper taste, now
brings me the same enjoyment.
Balmy, blue summer nights.
Cradled my audience of stars.
Laughing at the shape of waste,
they smile down upon me these days.
I don't know why I quit.
I don't know why I started.
Desperation. Depression.
Emulation? My grandpa, he waved
his hand with his fingers around bones,
tracing orange stories with his dead light,
of his would have been adventures
would he have had the time.

I. I.
I.

I don't have to die
soon!
I don't have to re
tire to my
tomb
to

spin
a tale.

I've been so blue.
Out of the loop
with my body
& my mind,
but,

I. I.

I still have the time.

I've been so stressed.
Forgot I could
depress the stress
button just
fine,

On my
own!

Now, when
I have ***,
I have the breath
for pleasure:

Oxygen.

Drapes in brown &
bubblegum shades.
4 the tongue,
particular taste.
Salt of sea,
air of new &
wet fruit beneath
erected hairs of
the first tree.
Pulp for me?
Spring of life
tributaries
catching at
your knees.
Pulp for me?
Tell me, if I drink,
am I eternal?

Late - ly
I can feel the i - tch, I know:
It's preposterous.

Wh - y is it, that I
never can de - cide
who it is I am, with
con - fi - dence?

Modern tools aside,
I still take the r - ide
taken near distantly by
my an - ces - tors.

Late - ly
I can feel the i - tch, I know!
It's preposterous.

Now, kids, please listen
as you read my voice
how you like. How you like.
I thought I would die by
the time I was twenty five
at fifteen -- but look at me.
Now, kids, I'm touching
twenty nine with a cer -
tain newfound confidence.
I survived the prescription pills,
the gender redefinition, as well
as the hormone therapy, and I
want to tell you that I,
believe in you. I believe in you.

Cel - ebrate all of your pain
at your whim and as you live,
well, the pain will become
your friend and your impetus.

Lately, I can feel the itch.
I know it's preposterous,
but I must continue to
explore and change
unless I aspire to
placidity, and I
don't-- in fact
I never will.

Have you ever clicked that button and seen the next page?
For those missing it there, here, I'll explain.
For just seven US dollars and fifty US cents
a month you can subscribe to this event
and receive two disconcerting things.

First of all, the page itself says you'll be favored by the staff.
Secondly, you'll have more influence than those who don't pay
to influence the trends, which means, control of what is seen.

If you're confused, let me use a modern analogy. More online games than ever use this method of operation, free to play on one side, the other pay to win.

This keeps the total number of overall players high, and with these two sides in the same environment, it's only a matter of time before the desperate give in to this disparity and express piety with cash else completely fizzle out.

That's exactly what we have here. If paying expressly means you immediately mean more to this environment than those who don't, what the hell is the point of this at all, Elliot?

Why not bite the bullet and fully implement a pay-wall?
That way everyone who gives you money can be left alone in peace and harmony to ****** their ***** and/or their *****.

This might work with a game which contains intrinsic rules and values, but to use money to decide the fate of art is the same **** that's been going on for centuries.

Notice to the newer names on this site:

Beware.
You are a commodity.
You are a $

And if you air a grievance, the names who give their money will jump to the defense.

Can't you just be happy and not complain?

The poetry they use their sunshine to boost,
funny,

says the same thing.

It was dark and day
the day I read the words came straight
from [redacted]'s brain placed upon
this coded page

Oh my delightful
bedstand book took the rope and pulled
from the poetry a noose
with which to cull

its zombie
body
infused
with life
only as
love peace
& pros
per
ity

[redacted],
imbue
me be
fore I
leave

O,
please

when u see a hunky guy
rippling his         muscles to the future
generic
                      genetic         steroid man
composed    entirely    of testosterone;
disqualified
& [quietly excluded]     from  society:
her niece              has a broad back &
shoulders    facing the stars
       of the Lingerie                League;
a well armed          militia of athletic
         women
                                          taking out men w/:
          their                         looks & charm: [scent]
u've       got to         really ****
&  be                 hiding behind
basement                     doors |      building bombs
                                     to blow    urself      to bits,
   so someone else can blow
    someone else to bits;
[bombing ur own holy places   to no end
                except
                 to         [live in fear
of                 women in cars,         cheerleaders  &
feminists |               what kind of  *****
                         are u?