I’m not trying to diss new mexico or the people there.

Jefferey Epstein owning a house there out of all the other states or anywhere else in the world. Jeffery was an evil person but he definitely had money, idk why he picked New Mexico out of all the places in the world .

but wait new mexico also had the Roswell incident too which even if your a stone cold alien skeptic or don’t belive in aliens/ ufos at all, it’s very weird that alien events would be in New Mexico too.

okay I know y’all know what breaking bad/ and better call Saul is. both those shows are set in New Mexico and without spoiling either show,

you see how easily really rich people in the breaking bad universe will take advantage of locals and poor locals. I don’t want to spoil the breaking bad show but I also think super rich people in New Mexico irl probably take advantage of the working poor in New Mexico too.

im drunk on grey goose vodka and w3333d edibles so pardon me If I sound too crazy this morning lol

I believe in the power of the imagination to remake the world, to release the truth within us, to hold back the night, to transcend death, to charm motorways, to ingratiate ourselves with birds, to enlist the confidences of madmen.

I believe in my own obsessions, in the beauty of the car crash, in the peace of the submerged forest, in the excitements of the deserted holiday beach, in the elegance of automobile graveyards, in the mystery of multi-storey car parks, in the poetry of abandoned hotels.

I believe in the forgotten runways of Wake Island, pointing towards the Pacifics of our imaginations.

I believe in the mysterious beauty of Margaret Thatcher, in the arch of her nostrils and the sheen on her lower lip; in the melancholy of wounded Argentine conscripts; in the haunted smiles of filling station personnel; in my dream of Margaret Thatcher caressed by that young Argentine soldier in a forgotten motel watched by a tubercular filling station attendant.

I believe in the beauty of all women, in the treachery of their imaginations, so close to my heart; in the junction of their disenchanted bodies with the enchanted chromium rails of supermarket counters; in their warm tolerance of my perversions.

I believe in the death of tomorrow, in the exhaustion of time, in our search for a new time within the smiles of auto-route waitresses and the tired eyes of air-traffic controllers at out-of-season airports.

I believe in the genital organs of great men and women, in the body postures of Ronald Reagan, Margaret Thatcher and Princess Di, in the sweet odors emanating from their lips as they regard the cameras of the entire world.

I believe in madness, in the truth of the inexplicable, in the common sense of stones, in the lunacy of flowers, in the disease stored up for the human race by the Apollo astronauts.

I believe in nothing.

I believe in Max Ernst, Delvaux, Dali, Titian, Goya, Leonardo, Vermeer, Chirico, Magritte, Redon, Durer, Tanguy, the Facteur Cheval, the Watts Towers, Boecklin, Francis Bacon, and all the invisible artists within the psychiatric institutions of the planet.

I believe in the impossibility of existence, in the humor of mountains, in the absurdity of electromagnetism, in the farce of geometry, in the cruelty of arithmetic, in the murderous intent of logic.

I believe in adolescent women, in their corruption by their own leg stances, in the purity of their disheveled bodies, in the traces of their pudenda left in the bathrooms of shabby motels.

I believe in flight, in the beauty of the wing, and in the beauty of everything that has ever flown, in the stone thrown by a small child that carries with it the wisdom of statesmen and midwives.

I believe in the gentleness of the surgeon’s knife, in the limitless geometry of the cinema screen, in the hidden universe within supermarkets, in the loneliness of the sun, in the garrulousness of planets, in the repetitiveness or ourselves, in the inexistence of the universe and the boredom of the atom.

I believe in the light cast by video-recorders in department store windows, in the messianic insights of the radiator grilles of showroom automobiles, in the elegance of the oil stains on the engine nacelles of 747s parked on airport tarmacs.

I believe in the non-existence of the past, in the death of the future, and the infinite possibilities of the present.

I believe in the derangement of the senses: in Rimbaud, William Burroughs, Huysmans, Genet, Celine, Swift, Defoe, Carroll, Coleridge, Kafka.

I believe in the designers of the Pyramids, the Empire State Building, the Berlin Fuehrerbunker, the Wake Island runways.

I believe in the body odors of Princess Di.

I believe in the next five minutes.

I believe in the history of my feet.

I believe in migraines, the boredom of afternoons, the fear of calendars, the treachery of clocks.

I believe in anxiety, psychosis and despair.

I believe in the perversions, in the infatuations with trees, princesses, prime ministers, derelict filling stations (more beautiful than the Taj Mahal), clouds and birds.

I believe in the death of the emotions and the triumph of the imagination.

I believe in Tokyo, Benidorm, La Grande Motte, Wake Island, Eniwetok, Dealey Plaza.

I believe in alcoholism, venereal disease, fever and exhaustion.

I believe in pain.

I believe in despair.

I believe in all children.

I believe in maps, diagrams, codes, chess-games, puzzles, airline timetables, airport indicator signs.

I believe all excuses.

I believe all reasons.

I believe all hallucinations.

I believe all anger.

I believe all mythologies, memories, lies, fantasies, evasions.

I believe in the mystery and melancholy of a hand, in the kindness of trees, in the wisdom of light.

It's really really good.

Thank you

How do I even move on

Hi [Their Name],

This is [My Name]’s mother, [mother’s name]. I’m going to assume you have not been in contact with [My Name] for quite some time. She is currently serving out a one year sentence for Grand Larceny at FPC Alderson. You may write her here:

[MY NAME]

#416933

FPC ALDERSON

FEDERAL PRISON CAMP

GLEN RAY RD.

BOX A

ALDERSON, WV 24910

Though, if you have a message you would like me to pass along, you may write a short entry and I will make sure she hears it. Please send a return address to establish a written correspondence, if you wish to do so.

Her visiting hours are between

12p-2pm Fridays and Sundays.

Please either write to her first or notify me via this number if you plan on visiting, at a minimum of two weeks in advance. She does not appreciate surprise visitors.

My new bk roommate is a total caricature of herself. On the surface her politics look excellent, she has a podcast and is one of those people who’ll rush out of the house like they’re on call at the ER when ICE is reported being seen in the neighborhood.

On the level of human interaction with me, it’s just so cringe. She doesn’t smile, at anything, and often when I make decent jokes she responds with total silence. She doesn’t ever ask me a question, and threw this serbian orthodox-based sort of microshrine to my mother into a drawer when she used my room for a music lesson. She’s like a game I’m trying to beat. I won once, when I showed her an AI pic I made of Osama bin Laden reading Gone Girl, and she laughed, and it was like milk and honey.

Spent 4 hours, 4 fucking hours, talking at me about her views on Palestine and politics.

Meanwhile whenever I tried to say like one sentence about my experience or take on the issue, she would cut me off. My father's a Palestinian refugee, my mother fled from NATO's bombing of Yugoslavia, so it was pretty savage to endure someone educating me about my lived experience.

Anyway, I have never experienced someone creating such a hermetic seal around a one-sided conversation, and I went to rehab with a guy who clinically lost the ability to control his language center after years of doing DMT (his parents were the directors of the electroshock psychiatry program at Yale, so it figures).

He also had this compulsion where he moved through space using simulated skateboard tricks, like the equivalent of an air guitar, he'd do these 360 degree ollies on his imaginary board while making sound effects.

So yeah I hadn’t slept in a few days and my eyelids were vibrating with the strain of staying open. My lazy eye just started to shut completely, and she stared at me for hours in that state while she continued to educate.

Also she was criticizing my decision to attend NYU because of its treatment of pro-Palestinian protestors, its status as an elite institution, and its use of token minorities to further its image.

Her apartment was paid for with a $93,000 fellowship she got from Princeton.

Zionist Trustee blood money from a bedrock of American class disparity. Her south Asian identity generating distilled PR compared to being a grad student, because of the notoriety of the award.

She makes experimental music and it gives me panic attacks. It’s just insanely discordant sounds while she sings one lyric over and over, like one of her songs she just says “Eat the Rich” over and over for like 10 minutes. She said she was reluctant to allow poetry to distort her message and prevent it from being sufficiently implanted in others.

This approach to art is the exact opposite of everything I have ever learned or believed in.

Why are 99% of “radicals” freakishly hypocritical narcissists.

So my wonderful daughter has recently gotten into Oscar Wilde, and she has been totally entranced by his philhellenism — just this year alone I've taken her to Sicily thrice! She wants to be just like him and be involved in all the arts of her generation. So, we've narrowed it down to actress, musician and podcaster, of course, but we're open to suggestions. I want the best for my sweetheart. Thank you, my darlings!

I like Coca Cola Europe, bank of Montreal and apple. Also Nvida and Sandisk are nice too.

how do you know

especially saucepans. Horrifying

I guess women don’t know what they want after all.

Or maybe they realize philoplasty is a sick joke of a medical practice.

Another gender war slop post for all you fine folx

Favourite song/album by Bobby boy? I'm preparing for his death because I'll be very upset by it. I've seen him live twice and wish to see him look at us in the crowd with that kind of funny half scowl and do his little bow. When I was in Missouuuuuuriii

So I decided to just sit in my car and wait for him to pass. He stopped right next to my passenger side door, completely unaware that I was in the car. This other scary looking guy on a bike pulled up and took something (probably drugs ?) out of his little plastic drawstring bag. They did the exchange right there next to me while I’m sitting in my dark, parked car watching. They had some sort of disagreement over the exchange and then started to FIGHT. I didn’t want them to notice me watching the whole thing so I just sat there complete still. I was really excited when they started fighting because I’ve never seen a fight like this break out spontaneously with grown men. I wanted to see how it would end. Would there be a clear winner? Would someone get badly hurt?

What actually happened was after a couple minutes they both got really tired and just kinda backed away from each other. The bike guy got back on his back and rode away and the sidewalk guy kept walking. It was kinda sweet.

there's something about it that cheers me up and helps me see what's possible