October 8th, Year 22

Red Baron! Hey, Manfred. I said, hey!! Come in, Red Baron. If you locate my brain out there, please return it to its rightful owner. Never you mind, give it to me instead. My thoughts are muddled. They lack cohesion. I can’t articulate what I feel, and I am feeling a lot.

Hey, Red Baron, I know I dropped it out of carelessness, but that does not mean I don’t deserve it. Sure, sure. I hear you, be more careful next time. Got it. Save your lectures. I have always been the careless type, and it really isn’t fair to ignore my warnings, then get upset when what I told you would happen, is exactly what happens. I really don’t understand ghosts I pretend to communicate with anymore. They are too complicated.

Hey, Manfred! I have been running on an ounce of hope, and half a wish for a very long time now. Were I a car, you’d hear me rattling from a mile away. I would have all sorts of knobs and hand-crank windows. You would hate driving me, but my color is nice. It’s that shade of red Mary Magdalene chose for her underwear.

Do you think about Mary Magdalene, old sport?

Red Baron, I am submitting a proposal at the local Alcoholics Anonymous on Friday. You heard right. I am asking to hold meeting of Survivors of Incest Anonymous there. All the little girls who never grew to be women will go, and heal like magical, little butterflies.

Fine, yes. Goodbye. I know, you have things to do. So do I, you know?

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October 8th, Year 22

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