A space for original me-terial, Sofia zone, decorate it with all of the things that are this wet haired creature with the dog on er feet, particularly beaded bracelets flonase exposed buttcheeks temporary tat-uwa-hays empty earholes this book belongs to the unicorn! The unicorn is me, probably, or else I’m about to get a run for my money… should I suspect the dog with the middle part? but she lacks the necessary pink-purple unicorn sheen… well I’d better guard my treasures, knit hat and oh what do i need other than that anyway? smooth piece of blue glass? tin foil? hardly used tissue? undeveloped film?

I have spent the past week with the dog on my feet and the twitches of her dream legs give me wide eyeball episodes… I am a menace to myself - no that is not a question!

i can’t decide if productivity is a bad word, I like its productiveness, but I hate how it stamps around in steel toed combat boots (probably I’m jealous). Now is the time to pick and choose which flowers are worth keeping, figure out which ones are getting soggy and smelly. TO THE COMPOST HEAP

and the beast awakes! to hug her or to kick her off my dream legs? how to ever be sure?