It Isn’t Ready I’ve written you a rolled up book inside my head regarding our colored lives, and in fact the very future failure of our movement it’s a bleak work, bleak and tired and too heavily reliant on the thoughts of others and the thoughts of you without the proper historical context of how we once traipsed through pink rose bushes and got cut up by the thorns but we sure did fuck up some of those busybody ladies who watched us from their silken windows lamenting their pruning jobs I couldn’t really try to tell you the whole sordid story or even attempt to write it down one bit at a time but you should remember it anyway, you were there after all it’s a waste, the days have been quietly sneaking past us and we haven’t been able to grab ahold of one of them since the last time we really fucked up those rose bush ladies I’ll tell you it is a good book though, floating around, regardless of what’s happened to us since then. I hope we have some shared lines. let me know if you ever catch one of those bastard days again, I’d like to help you kill it and leave it bleeding out for the birds.