I recently lost the girl that I call my creative mentor, I cycle through them every four or five years. Its an insane story that I wish that I could tell but I can't right now because its a little too personal. Actually part of it is in the book that I have finished but am waiting to get printed. That book is called Bleef the Grugs.
I like taking a rip from the funny pipe, breathing really deep with a sort of whistling sound, tilting my head back and exhaling the smok.
Back to the mentor shit. It goes something like this. I need some. Fuck, I can't tell this story.
OK, I can, in the name of unfiltered truth. If one of my roomates comes over this way I will have to click the web page to something else so that they won't see the personal shit that I am writing.
Some other time.