Oh baby. Lift me up magic mirror.

To be lucrative. It's just so...everything. Makes my titties grow hard. Oh baby. Something about...sweeping. To be among the righteous, always in demand of course. Who could resist? Just run the sycophantic nothings and I too, oh baby, can be your very own fixture picture. Who wouldn't have a hard on with this shit. To resist that mirror, oh you sexy industrial thing. I mean when it's all about the bag. If it's your thing, cool deal. Make that money and roll. I have no hate if that is your thing. My thing is different...all of this comes about when a group of disrespect rolling up on me irrationally like they are universal to me, keeps having that go. I guess I'm a TLC scrub. I mean, when it's the material frame that ordaines all. Who cares about what one did among the halls of education. He can't afford my favorite Calvin Klein thong. Bitch needs disrespect. Gun for that ho. Something like that...And I'll fire up the writings all over again. You can't seem to stop, and I can write nonstop. I enjoy it. Maybe it was meant to be, so let's go loves. When it keeps happening, considering the networked play, it does give away the influence that would be required outside of institutional form...and wwhen it is so angelic....I wonder.