I think I am going to throw a whole book away, of 39,000 words, as I am rereading the first chapters...I don't like, it and dont want to change a thing...will go away and write the same story in a different way;
I don't want to explain, so I'm showing it in the trash;
And I'm blocked and blocked and I don't like dragons arriving at the end, so I may just scribble a paint brush over the last few pages, stick them together and sew up my hand-made book;
===
So I printed out a free poster of a swastika, from the library, with words I painted on, that said:
TOO WHITE FOR YOU!!!
And stuck it on the window of the telephone box outside the bus shed (which one day got taken away, the telephone box I mean, the poster was ripped down)...and here is my point...
A lull, in the looking of a marred face, a tinge of blame, is so much against me that, I go out hollering against the bus driver, and he is old and native and he sweats tears, he is so lovingly dejected. Bus rides are a good reassurance. About gangs that ride them, they pay off the conductor, and punch at the windows, they ignore me. I haven't met one person who must know. Even the time of hands is so involved, the wrinkle on the dressed knees, and the patience, and good silences. I got a day pass. All these nights I spent, where even the evil, began to want an end of nights.
I don't want to explain, so I'm showing it in the trash;
And I'm blocked and blocked and I don't like dragons arriving at the end, so I may just scribble a paint brush over the last few pages, stick them together and sew up my hand-made book;
===
So I printed out a free poster of a swastika, from the library, with words I painted on, that said:
TOO WHITE FOR YOU!!!
And stuck it on the window of the telephone box outside the bus shed (which one day got taken away, the telephone box I mean, the poster was ripped down)...and here is my point...
A lull, in the looking of a marred face, a tinge of blame, is so much against me that, I go out hollering against the bus driver, and he is old and native and he sweats tears, he is so lovingly dejected. Bus rides are a good reassurance. About gangs that ride them, they pay off the conductor, and punch at the windows, they ignore me. I haven't met one person who must know. Even the time of hands is so involved, the wrinkle on the dressed knees, and the patience, and good silences. I got a day pass. All these nights I spent, where even the evil, began to want an end of nights.
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