I NEVER AGAIN WANT TO HEAR YOU COMPLAIN ABOUT YOUR LIFE!
The kitchen walls were swirling with cockroaches because
mental illness made my mother homeless in her mind. Her spirit was ripped up
like a carpet by her Crack addicted son who pawned some of our belongings to
feed his demons passed on by his father who, among other abuses, tried to drown
me in my bathwater. Meanwhile back at the dorm ranch of NYU, I wondered how to
work on a homework assignment to create a tour book to draw vacationers to The
South Bronx of slumlord millionaires.
I NEVER AGAIN WANT TO HEAR YOU COMPLAIN ABOUT YOUR LIFE!
Go take a selfie on your Vida Dolce. And don’t forget to…
Unfriend the dead and the dying
Danny
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July, 3,
2014
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