We're all a tangled mess moving slowly through this world. I wonder what your imagination says about your desires. And I wonder how we may heal through nurturing masturbation. I think the answer (if there ever was one) is hidden in the inbetweens. The wax and wane, a poetic dance. Imagine here: a pile of charred coal, honey drizzling and dancing above. Your amerikkkan screen has consumed you, eaten you whole. Don't you see that? I envision milk pouring from Her hands, the maternal source of life. Providing, providing. A dash of honey for Her sweet tenderness. Don't forget about Her tenderness. Stay tender. Stay lovely. My mind is all fragmented selves. See here: departing ceremony for all the persons I've carried. Learn to carry, they will say. Carry it all, they will say. It is your burden, they will say. (it is not). We share in this burden, I am here to help you carry.