Before ending today's work, found myself in a grand hum & whistle, while in the magnificent garden I've made at my origin-house. Note I'm well working what foids can't have because they're too busy living “independent”, working “jobs” (parasitic sinecures), walking “dogs” (definitely not a replacement for womb-fruit).
So often, I'm wracked with the inescapable yearning for their companionship, but here the tables seem to turn. They walk past – they observe this awesome ‘nest’ I have built, and seem perplexed. Meanwhile, keeping far away from their glowie hatred, nonetheless I am sometimes visible, hobbling around best I can, in glaringly obvious need of an helper. Since they're dead‑set on withholding their sex from me, at the very least I can find reflective enmity here : Take this denial, ha‑ha bitch.
So often, I'm wracked with the inescapable yearning for their companionship, but here the tables seem to turn. They walk past – they observe this awesome ‘nest’ I have built, and seem perplexed. Meanwhile, keeping far away from their glowie hatred, nonetheless I am sometimes visible, hobbling around best I can, in glaringly obvious need of an helper. Since they're dead‑set on withholding their sex from me, at the very least I can find reflective enmity here : Take this denial, ha‑ha bitch.
