Jane Austin Era Day Dream

Im sick as fuck of fucking explaining myself but I feel like I have to. This is a trauma response: over-explanation. It’s just, when you’ve been invalidated and exploited, made into a symptom-bearer, been the black sheep, the Identified Patient in your generationally dysfunctionally family, used as a scapegoat, a pedestal for the egos of others, you may have learned to tolerate people who will force you to have to have to fucking explain yourself because whatever you do will not be good enough for these fucking moral judges and condemners you can never please – because believe me, THEY know what good is, what valid is, what mormal is, what a man is, what a trans person is – and you are NOT it…. or you ARE it… just, either fucking way, you are fucked with these fucking people. People without dignity will rob yours and still not have any. There are just some people, if you hang out with them – and you will, shit people happens – they’re gonna cannibalize your decency. They’re going to make a meal out of you, they’re going to eat your heart, your naivate, your trust, your innocence, your reputation. Some people just want to smell the blood in the water. There are masses of them. Swarths of society. Soceity. The Maury Povitch people. And clearing yourself from them aint gonna be no “not the father” dance neither… no, you’re gonna be in an emotional wheelchair, a mental body cast, your feelings in a fucking iron lung. Your pride dead. They’re gonna radiation poison you with their toxic characters, while you are forced to publically open your closet to prove the limits of your indecency as a human being… coming clean will still leave you dirty after these toxic vampires latch on.

Personally, I don’t know why people are fucked up, or the ways in which they are. I just know that there is every kind of fucked up person on this planet. I personally only know my own trauma and how that has impacted my past actions: things like verbally abusing someone I loved. That was so not okay. Ever. I did that to my exes. You could say it was a pattern when I was drunk. “FUCK YOU YOU WORTHLESS BITCH” kind of thing. And I am guilty of the offense of having been verbally abusive at times in my relationships when I had been drinking. I think my exes deserve to tell that story, and not I, and should any of them wish to, they will have my full support in calling me out for what was never okay. Doesnt matter that my father did it to me. Doesnt matter that I was drunk. Its not okay to verbally abuse people ever. Look, I’ll call a crazy psycho bitch a crazy psycho bitch. My exes were not. That crazy psycho bitch I met recently was. Crazy psycho bitches have never been w pattern in my life. Really fucking dope, great hearted, genuine bitches have. Genuine, bitches, and genuine bitches. I love these bitches with all my heart. I’m still crazy for all of them. Same crazy psycho asshole, just, less psycho, more crazy, and still a asshole. Sadly, I lost their love due to my behavior.

They were the best girls I ever knew. And my relationships were rocky bc of my own issues, those issues. My anger at the love I never got. And it was undue my exes who all tried to love me. All loved me. I’m sure still all love me at that unbroken level of closeness we all had. Just, recent events have forced me to dig up my own past. It’s not something I will ever have to fear, it’s just, my past, my own character as a human named Lawrence, when I was that human. My sins are mine. They are not cancelable offenses. They are, however, dispicable. I find them such. Being a verbally abusive person is not my character. It was. Plain and simple. Again, this is memoir shit, its just, I’m a self-aware asshole. I own my fucking past. All of it. Even the parts I refused to acknowledge the impact of on my own personal losses in life. Like, I’m fully the bad guy in all my relationships. And that fucking sucks. I hurt those girls and made myself impossible to love. But they still loved me, it’s just, they were too decent, mostly, for who I was at the time. I accept the truth. I tell the truth. I always have. Even when telling the truth has fucked me over. I just, I don’t contend with reality, I don’t try put my version on it. I’m not that cunning. Nor does lying ever serve a purpose except to protect the guilty. Like, you can come back from mistakes, but being a liar, that’s a character defect I don’t have. I tell too much truth. Even my exes are probably upset at me characterizing our relationships as rocky, because, they were loving relationships… just not wholly happy relationships, bc I wasn’t wholly happy deep down. I’m still not. I just know why now. It hurts to realize you burned your own house down. But I did in love. My temper. Never violent. Never physically abusive. I put hands on on girl once, when I was unwell, and I regret that for the rest of my life. She’s the girl I still love and miss most. She haunts my bones and will forever. Goddamn I love you Sarah. I’m so sorry. Words don’t matter. Fucking, you know I love you, and I know you still love me, would protect me from myself if you could. They all would. I will never get over you nor be wholly absenst you. You’re always here. The other girls are gone. Mostly. And they took their versions of me they loved with them. Mostly. Left me with the me they hate. Mostly. But you left me with the version of me you loved, left me still in love with you. All the stupid way. Fuck I am so broken. I need to pay someone to clean my house. I mean, I’m still in love with Daniella, Shannon, LeighAnne, like, I had very close, intimate. caring relationships with these women, and if I hadn’t been dysfunctional, I would have been close enough for them to want to stay with, more than the years they did. But I just kept on fucking it up. Just, inside there was just this terribly pained little transfemmesensitive kid who was really hurt. I don’t even know all I went through. My memory has blocked out my entire childhood. So that there was no childhood then and none now, and fucking, just, only the trauma and sadness of my youth in a really broken home with a demon of a father. My parents, neither given proper love, my dad spoiled by his dad, my mom’s mom emotionally distant, they became codependents. The cost was severe neglect and abandonment to their youngest. Neither of my parents formed a bond with me. Just. Childhood was hell. Growing up was hell. And no girlfriend could ever replace the bond I never knew. The song ‘The Beacon’ by A Fine Frenzy is my heart, my love to myself, from the girl my exes raised to a boy who didn’t love himself, never got it.

I spent hours walking with Einstein, goddamnit I fucking miss that dog, tears on tears tonight. He was my friend. I grew up with a dog that raised me, there was no one around. Jake. I was Jake’s feral child.

Anyway I spent hours walking Einstein, carefully on an icy course we would take, listening to this song, The Beacon, by a Fine Frenzy. It is my song. Goddamnit.

I was alone that year. Coming out as trans alone, which cost me two lovers and both my best friend couples, a lesbian couple who were my stoner friends, would go to Kundalini yoga high AF with, and two incredible gay trans boys who used to have sleepovers w me, smoke weed, listen to Brockhampton, bake pizzas and then go outside in the snow and throw the cardboard pizza trays like frisbees, up onto my roof. It was hard to lose the friends I had made alone. More than the lovers, who were just losses to my ego. Hot girls who had vaulted my confidence but only knew me as a male. Just, its hard for people to integrate you into their lives when you shatter their entire mental schema of you. They want the mental doppelganger of me they had formed a liking to. Not, oh, I’m trans by the way, like I thought it would be. No big deal. No, it was. Even my own family would reject me. I would be homeless. Fucking. It has not been easy. But it has been worth it. Trans kids: it gets better. You just got to survive the part where everyone wants you to kill yourself. Having no friends. Yeah I have a very solitary existence. Haven’t fucked in two years. No human touch. And on estrogen, you get touch starved. Displaced by wildfires, I went killing time on a solo camping roadtrip from SLO to Santa Rosa. While at a campsite in half moon bay, with two couples partying next to me, I broke down to loneliness and tindered myself into an invite over to someone’s house in the bay, for what seemed like a totally normal night of hooking up and hanging out quietly (to be respectful of their roommates)… but fucking, I was stupid. This shit turned into some bitch trying to witchhunt me on some entanglement shit. And I’m from the Cardi B generation, we say bitch you bay area Karen-ass TERF bitch. Yeah, guess I’m still the same toxic person. Like, fucking, I never cared about opinions except my own and those of the women I love. The latter would prove to hurt me, but it would teach me a lot. I’m still learning. Obviously. Like, look, as I said to my mom recently, “I’m always going to be the same piece of shit”. Like, I can live with all my piece-of-shitness. It’s the really decent thing about me. I know I’m not a piece of shit. But I also know large parts of society will see me as one forever. For being trans, for seeming male, for being unapologetic about everything about who I am. Like, I like myself. I’m likeable. I’m kind. I’m caring. I’m ruthless. I’m an asshole, or so they say. Or so I say.

Anyway, I’m sure i’m this bitches mortal enemy, and like, a lot of people find me unlikable. I’m one of them. I am not likable. I AM LOVEABLE. Which means I am also hateable.

I’ve long described myself as “a litmus test for humanity”. Like, I bring out the best in the best and the worst in the worst. If you don’t like me, like, you have fucking character problems. I’m really integrated, even my painful awkwardness, want of love, and insecurities are, so like, I trigger people. Like, fucking how dare I love myself. Well, it’s easy, you see: I have a good heart, know my faults and am willing to own them, and I’m sexy as fuck. That triggers people too. To say nothing of being really sensitive, bright, compassionate, and just, a neat human. There is no one like me. I am one of the plot points on the graph of history. Be grateful victor hugo nutted on your belly. Zzzzzzz….

Anyway, I’ve lost the respect of people I’ve loved for good and bad reasons. Valid and bullshit. But, like, I let myself question my worth. The consequence was not from undervaluing myself, but from overvaluing another I didn’t know, opening myself emotionally and physically to someone who would try and hitch their damage onto me in the form of some character attack catfishing psychological terror shit. Like, anyway. I’m so sick of going over this shit. I just, I don’t ever want to put myself in a position of trust with anyone I don’t know ever again where my asshole character could be put into question. I’m gonna be on some Keanu hand-hover in my photos shit. Like bitch, I’m gonna be a celebrity. I have the force of will that can’t be stopped. And I’m larger than life.

As one of my soul wives [aww, my exes are my soul wives, well, them and Lana and Taylor ♡ ] sings, “Boy you should think of the consequences of your magnetic field being a little too strong”.

Yeah, I got a real strong magnetic field. “There’s nothing I hate more than what I can’t have”… I hope Taylor and this bitch aren’t alike.

I’ve had some good laughs tonight. God I hate the daylight. I don’t want augmented reality so I can fuck Belle Delphine – oh fuck me she’s South African, wow, okay – um, I want augmented reality so I can live in a permanent nighttime world. I need that IG filter for my life. I am very light sensitive. Noise sensitive to the point where it hurts my ears to speak to my Alexa and I live in a pair of headphones.

Shannon, I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you all the time you were telling me I was on the spectrum [AND IM NOT TALM ABOUT NO WIFI] like, and for my autistic meltdowns, which, I remember would turn into panic attacks, just, oh baby, I’m sorry.

Goddamn. I just, I masked so much. My childhood stimming was shut down. My sensitivity. My sensory processing issues and food issues ignored. I just, when you’re so called “high functioning” society has no priority or want or perceived need to cater to you. We come from that brand of “oh you think you’re so fucking special.. boo hoo” type of care. “Gotta toughen up” as my dad would say, painfully punching my shoulder. When I was physically bullied growing up, I was beat up a lot, attacked, trans youth story…but like closeted bc I didn’t know what trans was, but like, in my house, all the bullying was reinforced as my fault. Every time my dad would just say, “You gotta learn when to keep your goddamn mouth shut”. My dad was my biggest bully.

Fucking. Just, I repressed all my queerness bc to me it was just my sensitivity, but to others, I was a faggot. Anyway, I was a cool as fuck kid. I read more books than anyone in school, the library told me. I grew up totally raising myself. Part sailor boy. Part punk rock skater boy. Part hip-hop kid who grew up playing basketball. I faced everything alone. No one to ever talk to.

I had never been close to anyone before I fell in love with Baby D. 4.5 years later we broke up. Back together 1.5 years later for a year. Then a fun year dating Leighanne, a fun girl. Then in love with Shannon, super close. Then Sarah super close. I dated a really neat girl named Jana too. She loved me good too. A mother to me like all of them. Trying to make a woman what I never had, perfect. And these girls were.

I was kinda the fucked up one you know. I had ignored all my childhood, as if it wouldn’t affect me other than being something that obviously was unfortunate. And my binge drinking. Fucking I was a classic alcoholic in my twenties, and a bit into thirty. It was just, the only tool I knew to cope. But it would end up letting all my anger out, upon people who did not deserve it. Hard to see how blind I was to that reality for so long.

I’m not ashamed of who I was, afraid of my past, fucking, as stated. I’m just, I’m not the same. A lot of shit changed in the coming of age of my consciousness. This entheogenic Jungian type of journey I had taken, over years, initiating myself. Facing myself. Being alone. Hurting down to my lowest. You get to know yourself. In the end, you end up becoming who you are.

As I said to my mom on text tn, “I’m just trying to be who I’ve always been mom”.

I’m not burying my past. I’m claiming it. All of it. I’m Jean Fucking Valjean. God how could I not mention Gabriella S. I was thinking of you tonight. I love you.

Still love all the girls I dated. And it broke my heart that they didnt love me but I wasnt wholly LOVEABLE. It hurts to be now. And to be alone. Basically my attachment disorder fucking still deeply in love with all these women who have loved me. Fucking babeworld. Swear to god my exes gonna be on a podcast tour [Like Travie say, “I might take my exes, put em all up in a group”. I’m fascinating. Like a lot of intense minds, Steve Jobs and Phillip Roth come to mind, daddies of mine, I’m a asshole. I really feel like that’s something to claim. Because, if you know me, you’ll go “no you’re not” and if you love me, you’ll go “yes you are, but not the worst”. And some of you, will think I’M THE ANTICHRIST. Fucking, I have a distinct identity. A unique history. A well-read and well-fed mind. “A story to tell”, as one girl, who I could have had as my girlfriend right now, said… if I hadn’t pushed her away. I still have your letter, the one you folded. I’d say your name, but, I think our almost thing cost me the friendship, of someone I really care about. Maybe I pushed them away too.

Anyway, I’m a survivor bitch. I’m a cycle breaker. Spin classes hate me.

But like, I’m no ones villain. Besides this bitches apparently. And to you, I’m sorry I projected all my fucked up love onto you one fun, chill night. For any upset I I obviously unknowingly caused your ass. I don’t know how to fuck without my heart attached. I wanted us to be lovers, bc I projected this really kind, caring queer identity onto you, and like, was trying to get bay area dikey w it, on some fat girl lesbian-trans love, but, you caught them bad cis-het feels. You projected that shit, you got a fucked up ass Animus [Jungian sense]: so while I put lipstick on a pig with my projection [my love is dumb and blind], they tried to put a pig on lipstick. Bitch, read my lips. Stick it up your ass. G-d I’m so punk rock. But hip-hop. Bipolar as a person. It’s hard to be so different bc on one hand, you mask it, with an unconscious cis-het neurotypical normativity, which people resent as well – bc it’s not fully authentic – on the other hand, you face a lot of challenges as you remove that mask, the one this person hated with some vitriol, the mask that is tiring, the mask that has cracked, slipped and no longer fits; sans this mask: everything is heightened. More intense. More vulnerable. More sensitive. Your consciousness, your senses. It hurts you to speak to Alexa, bc your voice is too loud for your head, even at its softest. Increased estrogen dosing to achieve homeostasis is connecting your hemispheres. But the cricket outside hurts your ears without headphones. The frequency is upsetting. But you remove side, to hear your current favorite / theme song: Wait by Brockhampton.

The increase in my consciousness year was not without its growing pains. Nor without the pains that serve as this impetus for the increase in consciousness. Maturity is painful to acquire. All this consciousness is painful. Cannabis is helps. A fresh frosted-cold bottle of Don Julio SILVER is a pleasant friend. Just pulled it out – that’s what she said. Haha. Summer of Love by Waxahatchee. Good song. Haha, now Project ET by Future came on. This my shit. “I WAS JUST LOOKING AROUND AND I WAS LIKE: I WAS A ALIEN”. Fucking weirdest Future song. Legit in love with Future. I’m his Astronaut Chick.

Fortress by Dala. This a great song. I thoughtn it was Joni Mitchell forever. Certainly got A Case of You.

Didn’t think I was gonna drink tonight, but I needed to turn my own senses down a bit.

Top, Young Boy NBA. Fuck this album is amazing. I got a crush on them too. Hahaha. I’m going to have the best Black boyfriend someday. Or lots of them. Who knows. Haha. I AINT CHASIN SHIT. Not this tequila. Never do.

Actually that a lie. I do water. Not as a chaser, but so long as I live, I shall be hydrated. Who knew you could be drunk and hydrated? Okay, this half oz – 14 Grams – cannabis I got last night going fast. I don’t really ever smoke cigarettes anymore, as much as I love an Am. Spirit Organic. Just, breathing is sacred to me. I do a lot of somatics. I’m an incredible diaphragmatic breather. Damn I miss Mark and Kim from Tai chi and yoga. I need to hit them up tomorrow. I’m glad I didnt take a point of molly like I was maybe thinking of. It really is an incredible PTSD therapeutic. I’m super good about safe-use practices too. Small af doses. Water af. Careful sourcing. I weigh .10 on two scales. Damnit now I want a smoke and some molly. But too late, I opened the tequila. I got this new molly that isn’t like straight moon rock, like, IDK, my plug said its “pretty fire” but ima still order a test kit off Amazon.

And like, I get nervous writing about drugs. I mean, I want major writing publishing. Probably acting too.

Like, it’s just, I don’t want to be viewed as a liability to say, HBO. But, listen, people do drugs. They are illegal. Thus, more dagerous. If my last plug wasnt a cokehead, I would never ha tried the white he gave me. It was good. Best I ever had. Prob a good thing I don’t have that plug anymore. My fucking new plug, is perfect. He has no blow. He has no pills. None of that self-destructive lil peep shit I love, just that WATERRR. Classics.

But, back to my Hunter S. Thompson, Phillip K Dick point, drugs. They are dangerous. Potentially deadly. And bc they are unregulated, a cottage clandestine industry, some of us are alive simply bc we been lucky.

The wrong bump of coke, a tad fentanyl, which I dont know why the fuck would be in coke, except bc it’s cheap… but just, fentanyl is like heroin, I don’t do opiates. I don’t do amphetamines. My false positive amphetamine test result, was from Bupropion. Google it. I take it. 150 sr 2X day. Anyway, the wrong drug, the wrong combo, the wrong dose, can be deadly.

So like, we can’t allow every song to reference deadly drugs while silencing writers who are saying: use psychonautwiki … use reddit… like, I google things, questions about drugs, with ‘reddit’ added to the end or beginning of the search query. Chances are, someone has had the same question, asked it on reddit, and been answered by the generally level headed, mature, safe-use communities in whatever drug subreddit the question was posted to. But you can’t make mistakes. Not with drugs. Fact is, however, the so called “classic psychedelics”, Psilocybin mushrooms, LSD, DMT, fucking ayahuasca – never tried it yet but, when I have the priviledge of the people who go to costa Rican ayahuasca resorts, I WILL, BELIEVE THAT, but anyway, back to the safer drugs, the classic psychedelics, Mescaline too, and obvi, Cannabis, are the safest drugs. Opiates. Stimulants. Benzodiazepines. Pills. Powders. These are the more deadly ones. RIP Pimp C. RIP Peep. RIP Juicewrld. Mac Miller. Christina Bobby. Everyone who went too hard. Hurt too hard.

Yeah, as far as drugs, just, I love cannabis. Hahaha. I am a psychonaut. I LIKE DRUGS OKAY [Brett Kavanaugh hearing voice]. God I make awful jokes. The kind you should only tell to people you fuck. Actually, so bad, you can only tell them to ppl who love you. No racism jokes obvib- that aint me, ya retards. Damn how’d I get so fucking drunk just after half a bol of tequila. Just 375ml. Just a bubba.

Half way through my ten-thousadth Amy’s plant based cashew noodle. Dear Amys: please remove ‘cashew’ from the title of this dish, cashews are fucking gross. Also, you do want to try the Amy’s cashew noodlewhateverthe fuckits called, um… remove the full plastic, fuck what it says, pour some olive oil on that frozen bitch, put it in for three minutes, in the microwave you perverts… holy fuck I almost ate myself to sleep. Like I’m full but my lizard brain wants more dopamine.

Tequila is retired to the freezer for the night, 5 if its 12 fluid ounces, a bit less than half the 375ml contents, now in my tummy. Proceeded by lots of water. Followed by a big healty-fat and complex carbs meal. Would have been nice if I could drink this professionally or maturely sooner in life but, alas, it was not to be.

Just smoked a joint, some excellent high grade indoor. Grape Gushers. Well, finishing the joint now, and my night. Just took a handful of pills.

An extra Buspar and a melatonin – a combination shown to create new healthy growth in the prefrontal cortex. Big brain time, literally. L-theanine, for calm, iron, zinc, one or two other supplements. I don’t know, my supplementation is very intuitive and fluid. Oh yeah, one of the others I forgot was L-lysine, to boost growth hormone levels while I sleep.

I’m reclining now. Munching on a few organic gummy multivitamins. Ate a bottle of ogminic Omega 3 gummy vitamins the other day, like it sounds dangerous. Haha. Just in my mind, it’s like healthy candy. Like, if humans can eat seal livers, we can do a bottle of healthy fat gummy – I almost said candy, butit’s not, it’s just gummies, but they are not that good haribo shit, they’re total cons.Gino’s. Gummies in name only. God these B-12 ones are gross, okay, if I suck on it and..mm damnit I bit into it, okay, I’m gonna try one more. Okay I put two in my mouth, #ahegao …. but I put the lid on. Damnit. I need legit gummy CANDY bites to binge eat, like the raccoon possum I am. Okay, just two more. Way better when you suck on em. Know what I mean. God am I ever not gonna be 12.

Nice to enjoy that few moments a day I am satisfied. Before bed. Wish I had a lemon kevita. Wish I was horny. I could probably get hard and cum. I’ve been doing it like a goddamn chore. Like an astronaut squeezing one out for science. Trust me nuts have been busted in space. For and not for science. I mean, yeah it was cool when I fucked you on your bosses desk, on the train, in the woods, in a bloomingdale’s dressing room. On a beach. I’ve fucked a lot on the beaches . Totes McGee. But not the east coast yet. I’d like to fuck in more dressing rooms. High end. Where that happens. But I’d really like to fuck bc I had someone I did that loved me too. Damnit I ate all the B-12 gummy vites.

I feel sick. I just want to take a chlordiazepoxide. But I did before bed last morning, when I sleep. I’d die for a cold slim Pellegrino can. Will schlep myself down the mountain tmrw eve for a good autistic shopping trip. Popped the pill. Listening to All In, Young Boy NBA. This album too sad. Gotts stop listening to it. Just one or two more listens to ‘Drug Adddiction’. Listening to All In, but had to put on my fave Young Boy song, ‘To My Lowest’. I don’t know, ‘House Arrest Tings’ prob tops it. “Take me to a place I can’t imagine, victim of heartbreak and I’m so damaged”. Bruh.

A listen of Roddy Rich’s Prayers to The Trap God. “Couldn’t even go to sleep”.

Damn, I gotta nut. My mind won’t chill. Let me see. A few searches later: kawaii, otaku, and finally, my favorite: ahegao.

That was easy. Still want the Pellegrino. Well, some coconut water helped. I’m just, I don’t calm easy. Nervous from my childhood.

Twist another one. A joint. The single ahegao was adequate.

Just spent a few mins filling an organic raw king size. That was worthwhile. Airflow on point like my man Bern say. Smoking 3 gs to muh face. G-d why do I still feel so un calm. Damn this J just hit me like half way through. Cotton candy punch to the head.

Okay, I jus made a invention in my head. A long double walled straw you fill the double straw wall w water, attach joint to one end, inhale cooled smoke. That’s it, I need a bong a put ice cubes in. That sounds nice. Maybe I’ll find one tn. Had to put out the joint, smoke wast too hot. Hmmm..

What sounds good rn. Barbecue. Not hungry, just the flavor, and not like shit ass barbecue potato chip flavor either ya Lays eatin bitch. I always liked baked lays. Sex totes better high. Worse drunk.

Haha. Dibs ice cream. I could eat some of those. I dont have any, just I could eat some if I did. The smooth nutless kind. I want to name names but I won’t.

Ugh, damnit. I don’t have the things I want rn. Ice cream and a chest to put my head on, someone a hold me. Evil, I know. Listening to ocean sounds. It calms me. What I sleep to. Damn I just ate a remedy organics plant based god vanilla keto drink w a square organics protein crispy. Not really that crispy, but I eat them. That was a satisfying combo. Thank Mary Jane for that appetite. I took a fat handful of green chlorella tabs before too. My body is well fueled. I eat clean. Apparantly this bad to say bc it implies others eat ‘dirty’ but yeah, whatever, anyway, it’s a major priority for me to care for my health. This summer I cared for my physical health, but my emotional wellbeing suffered. A lot was going on. Okay, the pill hit. My head a lil heavy. But still not tired. I’m still not satisfied. There’s a girl I could think of holding rn, she’s taken, but just, I could imagine her back to me, in a cardigan, in my arms. I could imagine sleeping peacefullly next to her. Living closely. Deeply in our realness. But it’s okay, you don’t have to be mine, just, nice and calming to imagine. Think I will. And not be sad about it either. Just, imagine it like a Jane Austin era sort of wholehearted day dream. To put me to sleep with these ocean sounds. Would I be a fool, if my love was only ever real again as a sort of living fiction in my head. Maybe it’s time for folie in mind only. Either way, I gotta go see this daydream.

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