Money is hard. In the middle of the boondocks is where to find I my life friend vest. Vestitude in the inn, bridgestone in the brimm. Grimm Reaper, till the soil, seap what you sow, sew a new crow, home a new phone.
Alas, my money comes to you, my sweet, not bitter, blessed, beloved fluttering sister-bye. My, oh, hi, lovely. Lovely my, yes. Thank you. Goodbye, why.
My cousin told me about an artist (singer) who had a journal, in which she wrote words that sounded good together, sentences and phrases that sounded nice and felt right, but hat didn’t necessarily make any real sense as sentences and such. She then made a CD out of the words in this notebook. I’m not sure who this is, though I have wanted to hear this album ever since he first explained about it to me – I find the idea bountifully beautiful. Or something positive like that, anyway – I like the idea. This was my own sort of exercise in that same sort of writing. It wasn’t about making sense, but about telling a story through the sounds, without the assigned meanings of the words. I’m guessing my effort to be a mediocre outcome, however I am nonetheless proud of my accomplishing it.
Thank you for reading. 😉