aye think aye need tae take aye shit.

due things as you know how to do them best. from how you taught yourself in the beginning and from what someone helped you with all along. thank you ward and dave o’sulliedvindiesL.

my hits have been down for way too long well i dunno this much so far. i havent been writing or reading or internetting ive been living and running my bipolarity brains into overdrive and my heart rate too so fucking way much you know i dont want to die i dont want a heart attack i dont want a fucknig kerouac pre 47 years of age death by way of heart explosions and the like. stream of consiousness. where do you think that comes from other than from kerouac? other than my third cousin and stuff? and then my mom’s second fucking cousin an dthen my papa’s first fucking cousin? yep. and then the logical part of raymitheminx and shit? the white ango saxon protestant part of me however, raised catholic, the fucking right way? mebbe perhaps. in canada was right. by over-tired teachers is right. passionate teachers is right, better informed? who knows. opinions are just opinions you know? no reason to fucking fight all the time. all the time. im letting the past delete itself slowy but surely. i feel jinxed because i wanted the whole world to look at me. the whole world. do you want that too? i think sometimes you might. or one time you did. you need to be looked at or you need to look at yourself, in order to learn, to live and to love and then to forgive and realise that yeh, people, are just people and that they do not know that of which whatever…i take everything personally, i did, or i do and it made me crazy. i let it, i scripted it. i wanted a crazy room i wanted a crazy life i wanted doctors and stuff but i wanted to write a book and i started it all, plot characters love fucking underage shit bla bla all that stuff that gets junky fuckers hooked on reading, lesbian nurse and crazy patient scenario and then the evil head male doctor that raymi had to mindfuck or kill or something, outthink that guy to get out of there. my fucking cousin, also third relation to kerouac fucking inspired me to script this little minx trap, conjure that image, and im trying to tell him now all about it. he read me this depressed poetry shit and then it all began and i wrote the first page and a bit and even typed it, left it on the table thing in our livingroom for my mom an dad to see, i was pretty damn proud. i think i was 14, now i think i may have been 13, possibly 12. everyone was always older than me. i called it “Outcast Society” immediately. so that’s mine. raymi was lauren’s name. lauren is me. i was the narrator. i did not understand so much about narration and third person speaking and the like…tra la..but i knew i was the best at writing and mathamatiques and sciences and all that shit. i learned bilingual shit of le francaise kind. i can type it better you know and now i remember it again. i know spanish better now too and mehicano and deafness and blindess and illness and pains and on and on and on…sdkgds;kgf;eht you know these things too. you have inner dialogues.

here in my heart…hear in my head….no no no nono…no i dont know….nonoonononooo….download pulp’s, seductive barry right now.

roll the soundtrack and dim the lites cuz im not going home tonite.

change the song if what you are writing about is boring. if it’s boring to you, however.

you can start emailing me again. all of you. hotmail gave up on my past desired emails directed to suitesoleil, that old thing. ahh hell.

go to raymiraymi@yahoo.ca or parkdaleraymi@hotmail

fucking spam mail follows me everywhere anyhow, where am i now

im afraid of a lot of things. too too many. im suppose to be safe everywhere. youre suppose to be safe everywhere. anywhere.

in planes on trains in the planes in maine insane sane of sound mind and thought and intellect and beauty and inner strength.

will yourselves better. be your own fuckhead only. make mistakes and apologize immediately.

say, “i’m sorry” when you fuck up. dont say fuck unless you have to. be aware of children and animals and dogcrap and rain and lightning bolts and dangers and sars and pedophiles on the loose. dont be a target. dont let paranoia hurt you. burn you. dont do things that get in you. dont let people think you did the bad things and if you did them and they do find out, dont be shamed. dont be shamed. shame on you once. shame on you twice if you do it again. nihilism and all that zen crepe, all of it is relevent, all of it. the niggers of spain. the spics and jews and french and brits and irish and the niggers of italy and the niggers of niggers of whites and lesbians and fags and on and on

im fine now. im finer now. like a fine wine, with age, gets better.

there’s a better haiku for you.

less words, lesser words. lesser sentences. slow down the rhythym and pace. type to music tune out everything for awhile. but sometimes you need to type the way you know best.

dont let my paranoia kill you.

The post is from RaymiTheMinx.com copyright 1888 to 2888