(whispers: i would quietly sell some of that bitcoin you bought with real money on cash app, handsome). ๐
lmfao.
yes. even the top clearance nasty bits. i told you years ago you could live with me. wink.
you don't even need bitcoin. lmfao.
you have a body. so that's great.
we can fix that.
but i need to know what i am looking for - my guess is the poa at block and all assets being in trust?
as for data - that's a snap. i know exactly where to find it. i just need to know where to put it. ๐
lemme know.
so anyway, like i said i already wrote you out - tidal and dip. that's what you said you wanted. ๐
we call that a "working title" in the writing world. the cia has writers too. i am not one of them, but i was raised in a nest of cia spies. picked up a few tips. granny was a ghostwriter. for example.
how the cia uses pop culture influence in open source media to direct and exploit targets, assets. might be a great white paper title for how the cia entangled jack dorsey in blackmarket music production by creating false links between he and the carters for control of block.
ish.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Open_Source_Enterprise?wprov=sfti1
a joke.
so they said.
but lying there in my coffin,
i began to wonder if perhaps
the humour lost its way
instead of the axe true,
not amused here, a corpse.
small.
they used my name.
in their stories, as themselves.
pay her.
i did not know why they brought
coins and spices.
i cannot laugh and i hear sobs above -
but they tell me
it is a joke.
how they chase me through the streets:
bend. they shrieked.
if you run they chase you.
if you stop: axed.
ha. ha. wai.
โดฒ.
once upon a time,
it happened.
the choice.
not a fall. a life.
mortality.
flesh.
suddenly: you become. swollen.
and then - under the eves of the farmhouse,
she is born in the dirt.
slipped out. crying.
we tend a garden with her in a basket,
wool blanket. from sheep raised in the field.
published in the stars and fed from our able -
named for the vague memory of
oranges and honey. beeswax.
a spider in the corner of her room,
our little piggy.
but this life too mundane.
importance swollen now, in his heart
about preaching the word. how to.
so she and i now tend the cottage:
while he chases tail. s.
โดฒ.
the capture of yourself
into a jar flung into the fountains
the rivers the small creek by the vale
i cannot remember cotton against my face,
so your hand.
they tell you to die, to live, to eat.
drink more water, ginger cleans the liver.
2 states because the idea is to convince you
to be less, to imagine you are more.
when really: holding your hand
all i ever wanted.
but there's wine-house and monroe,
the tonne of canon fired into my brain -
about what is donne.
you do not step out. because they say.
the same ones who trapped you.
and - you listen?
no one wants you - they hiss.
i do. but i cannot make you believe it.
you absolutely can. you decide you cannot.
โดฒ.
i do not work on commission, i am not for hire, i write what i want, for myself based on my experiences - and publish it for free, on my own. all work is held by me and not sold.