My Mind, My Mood, My delicately poisoned pen…
self
Just 9 Symphonies Away, Doll
The Narrative’s Diegesis
Gauche Apotheosis
Who but Me?
I’m resting so I must not be terribly wicked
On that Beacon Bitch Shit
Golden Hour for my inner Sheila E.
Creating Drugs on a Starship to Ataraxia
Psychological Observation of an Opinionated Robot at 16,730 Days Old
When the Martian Fugu’s Inner Monologue goes Off-Script
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