Light Housework
The bullfighter dies And nobody cries Nobody cries
Time to learn how to write fiction.
I believe you could write. Do it.Ah, it’s hopeless. I’m toothless and declawed, and though my right lung is not currently hurting, the sore on my chest from the technician’s rough mystery treatment of my skin, now and then claws at me slightly. Right now I wish I had underworld connections, because I doubt that I would get anywhere legally, if a week from now, that sore has grown. I fantasize about being a killer who hunts for people who look like sadists to me. I don’t know if I will take a stab at writing a fictitious story about someone who has embarked on such a mission. I don’t think I’ve ever written fiction, though it might not seem that way to others who read my real life stories and find them unbelievable. Time to listen to Morrissey’s song Ganglord…funny, I just logged into YouTube and saw that one of my neighbours has posted a video of himself talking about gun laws. If I write a fiction story about an illegal hero, I will probably have him read it. That would be fun. I wonder how long it would take to write such a story or if I can do it. I will find some time to try. Take some time out from reading true crime and write some wishful thinking fiction.
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Clothes need to roam freely so they can move and agitate the dirt out.This is for you Light. I have never had my washing come out in a single bundle until the other morning. All my washing came out wrapped neatly in a quilt cover. Usually there are a few socks,tea-towels and knickers left in the washing machine. There was even a quilt cover in the quilt cover. Weird innit.
No way! really?!The standard debunking of precognition in dreams is to say it violates the physical law of cause and effect. I'm certainly no physicist, because I don't see how it necessarily would. A dream about something is not the cause of that thing, nor is that thing the cause of the dream.
You saucy thing! How jaunty! Such elan!Ah, it’s hopeless. I’m toothless and declawed, and though my right lung is not currently hurting, the sore on my chest from the technician’s rough mystery treatment of my skin, now and then claws at me slightly. Right now I wish I had underworld connections, because I doubt that I would get anywhere legally, if a week from now, that sore has grown. I fantasize about being a killer who hunts for people who look like sadists to me. I don’t know if I will take a stab at writing a fictitious story about someone who has embarked on such a mission. I don’t think I’ve ever written fiction, though it might not seem that way to others who read my real life stories and find them unbelievable. Time to listen to Morrissey’s song Ganglord…funny, I just logged into YouTube and saw that one of my neighbours has posted a video of himself talking about gun laws. If I write a fiction story about an illegal hero, I will probably have him read it. That would be fun. I wonder how long it would take to write such a story or if I can do it. I will find some time to try. Take some time out from reading true crime and write some wishful thinking fiction.
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