Friday, March 31, 2017


I can't believe I'm running some kind of business. I take stimulants and tell my body what to do. It isn't bad work but I am a drone. I do this to get money. I use money to get drinks and food.

My business got punched in the dick. Fee changes made over half my shit unprofitable. A few thousand items became dead weight.

Also there's the sexual orientation confusion and I can't pin down reality. Photos change to an oil painting. Paintings become abstract. I can't sell paintings to the IRS. They want lots of money instead.

I'm supposed to be worried about money. I am in a way. In a way I'm a big dumb baby. I can't keep track of what is real. I get panicked about matters which barely exist. I'm typing this more as a compulsion and less because I have anything to share.

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