God's Glory

I call it verse mating. It's better than check mate because the latter is winning once, but the former is leaving procreation. Oh how I'd love to date, and court, and get married, but instead I have drugging and rape allegations on me and haven't found a suitable 9-5 to my sleeping until 2:30 so far once or twice a week, I suppose. I have been considering a sixth or seventh stint in rehab, but I think I will hit a detox unit up. I have the time and need. I even have trouble reconciling having a desire to quit. Spiritually, I do.

I need to flex and apply my faith muscle until I develop faith muscle memory.

I should quit smoking, too. For sure. I haven't even come close. I really want my own reality show, but I digress and aim more towards touching on this think and thaw. My friend Brian has a jam pad that is an unfinished basement in Northeast. We call it the Miller Underground. OK so it's a work in progress, like A SPLASH of LIFE with it's questionable appearance and public consensus of a blight, but in which I am slightly invested and somewhat passionately fond of for it's cutting edge make-over potential.

Uneke, the grant? Richard J. Snickelfritz hit me, y'all know who you be. Need grants. Shoutout to The Tipsy Red Fox and The Art Experience. Lose the tude Pink.