Yeah, fuck Lindsey Graham.
Beautiful synchronicity.
Just a couple of days ago I texted my son, "Death to Trump and his ilk."
One down.
Many more to go.
Burn every American flag to ashes.
Burn your goddamn Taylor Swift and Beyonce albums and every edition of the bible.
I have stomped the dirt of the USA from my cowboy boots.
Puke. Puke. Puke.
I'm sweating in Belize and have never felt stronger better more alive. Kiss every inch of my ass.
Why am I such an angry woman?
Well, shit. Not sure where to start.
I only learned about William Sascha Riley a few days ago, which prompted the text I sent my son.
I'm no longer interested in casting pearls before swine.
I'm putting my pearls in my books.
Here's the latest.
It's a collaborative poetry collection, the last in a trilogy.
The language is quite strong.
Zero fucking apologies.
