Tuesday, June 17, 2008
see
Paper mashe flowers cut by the hand of the frustrated one, she carries with her the disease of her mother. On a cool morning in September she found discontent with the world once again and began the long strole down the car infested highway. It took some time before she would be able to walk back, but she did with the aid of a very nice person. Upon her arrival back she began to tear into the walls screaming in frustration while blindly uttering all the colorful words in the big book of bad language that brings us so very much joy. She was out of control and had good reason to be.
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