i felt the urge to cut my hair. it feels good, though it's a cold and grim spring. i'm not going to face-time or zoom talk therapy tomorrow. i'll go rather to the church of dog, burrow my shaved head in his golden fur. we're going to find out what's essential if it kills us, i hope not, but fifty-five percent of us approve of the sick fuck trump, and many more believe biden time will make us normal again.
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