391/8

Caitlin,
Notes from a notebook I name fashion = Brooklyn.
Anything to return to reality, I need my medication. I go to 8 bit and up a symbol of my love for Hughes. The people on the other end of this project don't care that I have no mental facilities without my medication. Nobody but Hughes. You care in a god way. Either you or pearl forrestor now wants to save me. Fuck me. Resurrect me.
Sometimes I hear those voices at night they justify my claims: I'm going to turn Williamsburg Brooklyn into the film party monster. It probably helps that a woman associated to tiger sells e pills (I need a hook up if I'm ever going to re-enact the Manson scene and become the people who organize zuccatti park before Bloomberg attacked us and started a permanent war against him in my political cspan watching future as a dnc member). I register my Zelda game as Nemo, the Brooklyn ghost from those videos I made when the people on the other end wanting to crush my ego leaves a hint. I knock over a glass. Digital scanners. I am always link in my mind bringing you the triforce of the cash at the end. Harvey Weinstein is gannadorf, but you have to marry me. Only condition or I'm taking the world fortune to London. Im at $100 now, I can afford future medication allowing me to explore my occupy world. This man prevents me from getting a $1 at pink berry I swear entertainment industry revenge when I'm free from this project. He says remember that, this is said into my body every time I make a claim in my seizures a claim of pride a joke on the other end since the seizure gives me amnesia.
I decide panhandling in the subway as a metaphor in toe jam and earl. Now I have to switch iPads