Time froze by brain injuries. Smells Like Teen Spirit fell
into an abyss of memories broken like shards of glass. The top of my head
rumbled with a stampede of damaged dreams and ideas dimmed by fear of jealous
nihilists and jihad on the schoolyard.
I wandered wasteland to wasteland before the plug on higher
education was pulled.
I had television for eyes. I came back with an ad for
myself.
Life After Media In The South Bronx Of America
How To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks
By Danny Aponte of Public School 161
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