ch.6

it's hard to tell...

I have my baby girl. 

She loves her mommy.

She helps mommy works. 

She lays by her mommy. 

Right next to her… 

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~

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Private. Public.

Privacy. Publicly.

Privately. Publicity. 

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When I was younger, I wanted to do PR. I have a Germanic-influenced adolescent, so I do and make a lot. Often. Frequently. The connections and relations thing comes easy to me, because that is what rare means. There are few. Not many. 

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Exclusive means closed. Inclusive means open. 

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How’s the weather up there, Baron? 

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I am still human childless. Barren. 

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They also left me. Literally abandoned. Bereft on flotillas. 

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Hi, Gerta.

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I’m a bit of a control freak. I take control of everything, because I do it all. I am everything, so I want my line, my channel, my lane to be streamlined and cogent for flow and consistency. They have to literally try to kill me. Homicide lied as suicide. I usually come between family, because they love me too much… They say trouble. This is Florida. 

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Maybe one day, my love will get his shit together and be great. 

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Never go on the internet. I always do new things. Like who does a livestream memoir of the past but it’s relevant, because the news is media these days. We don’t know, Kathy. I don’t care about him anymore, and he will kill his older brother if he tries to ask me out, because I already did his supposed best friend first from the apps right after Kyle, because I needed a first pancake and he was a big, big boy, at their mystery brother. Joshua self-deleted because he messed himself. They cancelled me on Facebook on purpose. Mark Z is so annoying. I used to have recurring nightmares as a child of being in a field and leprechaun chases me and bags me. They always put me on Benadryl and Dimetap and medicines. 

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I don’t talk about myself. That’s why I write about myself. 

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They all want to take my business, Lester Holt. Adoption agency. You don’t think that was kidnap and lies do you? Did Alan’s butthole die for me. Nobody else cares. He’s fucked. Have you seen how small he is. He probably wants a BBL at this rate, because what does he have to lose. Honestly. It’s not like charity pertains to him, and Glinda are raging psycho gay incest pedos. They’re racist, because they’re KKK. It’s not personal. It’s business.

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Live your best life!

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If you knew anything about anything, then you’d know that I hate gossip and repeating myself. That’s why I like to write it down. So everyone sees the same words. 

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It’s gotten that bad. It’s devolved that far down the pipeline. 

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The porn industry changed. Or I changed the pornos. 

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Ha. 

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My ghost girl. 

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When I meet people, I don’t talk about myself. Men don’t ask me about myself here. I know I’m hot, and I don’t have to prove anything to anybody. They’re all so abusive. I’m so over the sad, little girl act and the drama loops. I exited their circles. 

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You have the fresh meat for that. Enjoy being the superiors to the mental patient children. 

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I think that would be the fun part of having children. The discipline and the speaking down. That’s brilliant. Why would I want a career and work at it academically and in offices when I could just find men to have their babies so they can pay me child support, and then I don’t have to work ever. That would be way easier and more fun, because I could cheat on them and lie. How would they know. Wouldn’t that be so much fun. Get everyone in a cat’s cradle of fuckery via my vagina. Then we would know how they’re diseased and who did what. DL. 

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They’re all really gay, and they want me to get G cups so I can do porn to be raped and assaulted so they can profit from exploitation because word gets around that I’ve been to poundtown and am gangster, because I have “city miles” on me - even though I never owned a care there. I always took public transportation, taxis, or Ubers. A few friends had cars or access to cars, but I used to walk a lot - a lot, a lot of street walking urbanly solo. 

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So you gotta walk with a purpose and swiftly in a city. 

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Don’t dilly dally and take up the whole sidewalk. 

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When I think about it now - if I was in Chicago, would I - No. 

So that’s that…

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Is there like a bidding war or something? Right now? 

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Too many white and red vans, white, blue, black, and silver trucks, and black jeeps. Why does everybody have a motorcycle or some type of bike and I don’t? 

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The public paid share scooters never work out for me. Not in Tampa. Not in Santa Monica. No where. I just wanted to surgically remove myself from the cluster f of being adopted with two sides of mentally ill psychos and messy incest rapist thieves that lie and pretend to be things that they’re not publicly for show and profit. I refuse to be around child sellers and buyers. That’s too far for me - personally, considering myself and my life. Lifestyle. 

LA is really disgusting. It’s gross. I’m sure it’s for the best, since I’m so loved and cherished.

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There’s just too much blah all over everywhere all the time now. The silence is grim and heavy. Ominous as per usual. I only get brownie points when I act miserable and cheap and dirty here. It’s like I’m only allowed to eat sandwiches and be mad. They’re really over the hill here. You’d hate it here. Trust me. Never come. Here. There. 

They didn’t care when I didn’t go missing. They just have fake jobs or lies for reasons to have jobs for government things or other made up scams to get checks and obtain documents that they can forge to steal money that isn’t theirs i.e. they don’t deserve. 

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It’s so annoying when people take your name. Not like a handful. Like hundreds and thousands. There’s just new stories, data bases, media articles, accounts, etc. with all of these people that apparently have your name now and it’s suspiciously targeted in a way that’s uncomfortably close and awkwardly competing as an obviously passive aggressive pass at my self, identity, life, career, and business. They aren’t even American. 

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They sold my life to Russia. They sold what they thought was me and what would sell while twisting everything and lying to themselves and others to make themselves look good so that they can profit and get attention, because they like to show off and grab at power and glory. That feels good to them. Ego motives. Those people are easy to predict, because it’s always about self-interest and doing the least work to coast on by and skate by on their looks. They are also envious of looks and never know what to say, but they’re just there. So.

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Is it weird that you can cover so much in so little space? 

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Do you feel like you’ve already gone somewhere? Been somewhere? Does this feel deep or shallow or like a waste a time or like it’s going nowhere? Is there a point? Do you want there to be one? Why or why not? What is your area of mastery? Can you have more than one? 

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Self-inquiry is the first baby step toward self-reflection to get to self-knowing for mastery.

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They all want my uterus. Cancel my organ donor ship. Cancel that organ donor status. Nevermind, Panda Express. Nope, blood truck. Nevermind. No. 

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Sometimes power is about inner beauty. Your inner beauty can be powerful. You need inner beauty to be whole.

To be complete. To be full. To satisfy. You need inner beauty to inspire. 

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Hollow words will only take you so far if you’re feigning earnestness. 

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Like a ticking time bomb… or a sand hour glass … what time is it? 

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~

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Should I challenge myself? Do you like to challenge yourself? Do you like a challenge? 

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Let’s not go. Stay where you are. 

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Is your heat beating? Is it thumping? Can you feel your pulse quicken. The blood vessels and arteries pumping and contracting. What other voices are inside your head? Why are you always so distracted… Why can’t you ever pay attention to me? You never focus on me!!!

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Make up to break up. That’s an Aries M.O. 

Mhm. 

Ya.

So.

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The signs. Reading the signs. The zodiac. Astrology. Star signs. Sun Signs. Moon Signs. Rising Signs. All the signs. Natal Charts. Destinies. Fortunes. Fates. Meanings. 

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I really am a genius. A savant. Autistic. 

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Royal blood. Royal DNA. From a Lost Time. From Another Planet. A different Space. 

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Universal Intelligence never goes out of style. It’s the why of fashion. The mystery of what appearance means when and why some and not others. 

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What’s the different between a model, a stripper, a dancer, a hooker, a porn star, a prostitute, a pimp, a drug dealer, a gangster, an immigrant, and a public park? 

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~

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I think that’s enough for now. Again, did I say much about myself? 

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Do I need to say more. 

Make it all about myself…

You know how I am. 

Or do you. 

Do you…