pistachio bar

Grey mind-scape… sick of my own mind. Sterile mind. Barren flower. Not even a flower. I’m sick of my own writing.

I feel like the lithium and risperidone dulls my mind. I feel like I want adventure. To go to some new horizon. Not just read about it in books. China.

The mundane banality of the world bores me. The machine of marketing.

Barren flower.

A Smiths T shirt, coffee, gives the illusion of living. A street on which every shop is a Starbux. Catch me in your blue tooth tracker hovering over the vegan pistachio bar. Shoot me into outer space as the gulag century approaches. A billionaire artist and dissident in his luxury pent house suite in Qatar…the ink runs dry.

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