what if I just used this account like instagram since I don’t have one
and posted a daily photo of myself in this mirror. today I got caught in the rain and dropped my grapes on the sidewalk

we are the sons of the twinks you couldn’t kill with rock

I need to go on a journey

this poem is happening in bushwick. it’s july. I saw you outside alphaville smoking an american spirit. I was also smoking spirits but the brown unfiltered kind because I want you to think I don’t care about dying. cupping a light, you brushed against the brim of my boot boyz herzog cap. I came

hey everybody this is .the real henry Kissinger’s account