(transcribed un-altered from my art history notebook; spelling anomalies and all :3)

Her of hearts of valeintino where for art though arlecchino. the face of my sorrow is the low bearing willow laden with pine cones. Fresh, unatural, sweet smell of pine and weeping branches. can you tell me where my love has gone where my deep teen angst has left me now that it is gone. Apathy lodged in the side of a cowboy's head. A mother singing soft things in the night. the soft whale song of the city promising sex breathing deep poison and sloshing heavily of bile.tendrils in the earth sing and resonate slowly of warmth and cute boys never fucked. they sway and moan like so many soft reeds in the miniture wildlifepreserve. feeding rats cocain in the summer rain. needing nothing for protection. needing no one never. need love and finding none. Even il capitano deserves love. even he deserves. I am the end to the means of the last desert highway. After me there is nothing after me and before me. there for the grace of god go I. Over mountains and hill. through valleys spilled with Quils and ink and well hung senior shows. I walk I walk I walk till fingers bleed and mountians talk ia m a warrior of sodemy of guentletted Joan of ARCS and sock monkeys. even I don't know what that means. I am not for the fiant of heart. I make weak hoys cry and the strong pay no heed. I am the cold rush of wind after a funeral I am the forthcomming pitcher for the pope's only duaghter. I am blue, green, bright light testing all bounds of neo nazi thinking I am buhda a pun on my throne. I am the last of the mohegans.
the sun is bright but I am so very dull. the earth is cold and sometimes I feel very alone.