Wisdom imparted upon me, via the walls of my humble space:
- B Strong
- One day at a time
- 406 691 1342
- SEL 3
(I was in cell three)
- Fuck the police and fuq u
- Brandon Woollam is a faggot dog
The funny thing about all of these scrawlings, is you would think that in a rather small, bare room they would jump out at you. Strangely, though, I only seemed to notice them as I was waking up and staring at some random bit of wall or ceiling. Also, there were orange-ish stains on the walls that I didn't pay much mind until the last few hours of my last day when I finally realized they were blood. Everywhere. Blood. Everywhere.
2 comments:
Stop blogging and come over already.
The Mirror Course Grand Prix is raping me hard. There's blood. Everywhere.
(Maybe, though, wait a little while. That one band is practicing in my basement right now, which incites more fantasies of blood being everywhere.)
(Also, my living room is clean.)
what is, may i ask, the mirror course grand prix? i can only hope it's not a mario kart reference of which is sexually assaulting dallas in the middle of her clean living room. um...but i think it is.
go outside and play for godsakes.
and why is my phone number on the walls of cell 3?
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