Montana Ray
| OULIPOING THE FUCK OUT OF YOUR LAST TEXT

I'm touched by that, Montana, I really am, but I'm no longer braided into your hair or interested in talking about artists who work with braids as their medium or even with braids as a component of their work, and I think it'll be while before I'm able to again; meanwhile I'll be making sculptures of your vagina.

I'm touched by that, Montana, I really am, but I'm a secretive, jealous, terrifying baby on the inside, and I think it'll be a while before I'm able to open myself up and sing out like the largest and lowest-pitched musical instrument in the brass family crashing my palms into the steering wheel like birds to Professor Longhair who made this record after his house burned down; and, frankly, I may never open up like that, again, not with you in the passenger's seat.

I'm touched by that, Montana, I really am, but I am probably the grim reaper.

I'm touched by that, Montana, I really am, but while as a Scorpio I'm supposed to be sexual, I really just wanna be in love, death stare death stare, and I think it'll be a while before I'm able to open myself up re: slow sex in the rain again though to be dead honest in the meantime I would not hesitate to mess you up emotionally if that's the kind of passion you go in for in that denim coat of yours feeling self-pity in that forgivable way of yours wondering if you have cancer of the mouth, yet. Why aren't you afraid of yourself?

I'm touched by that, Montana, I really am, but I'm no longer living on this planet, no I don't want to meet you at the Coney Island planetarium, and I think it'll be a while before I'm able to open my eyes to what this might have been and it might not have been anything after all. You're the one who needs a freaking star chart; this has nothing to do with Ami.