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All tweets are @thewinston_ quotes found on https://teapawt.net/t.co/PFZfIRZdUI or in the printed novels

Joined July 2021
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I’m cashing checks. Snapping necks. Turning down sex. PR, max sets. Demons haunting, night sweats. Never blondes. Brunettes. Let’s gamble. roulettes? 20k on black, top bets. It’s red. I have debts. No regrets. Find nearest mirror, flex, laugh, growl, light Cigarettes
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Souled Idea retweeted
Please DM any pics you have of CTF, even if you’ve sent before
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Bukowski sitting at his typewriter every night. Never before the suns down. 6 pack of cheap. 2 bottles of wine. Red. The ‘saddest’. His goal, 10 pages. Then: worship, his church & religion. Morning comes. Blacks in. Now to decipher everything that happened last night
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We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing. Bukowski
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this calmness is disrupted as she takes the back of my head into both hands and pushes my face into the bed. She lay her whole weight on me. I’m gasping for breath and sheets are getting tangled in my tongue and I’m awake now but I can’t move.
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Ex text last night but I see the timing & this time is just around the hour I suffered from sleep paralysis. A scene that played out as such: I lay on my back in bed. It’s dark. only dim shadows visible. Streak of blonde hair catches eye at the door - left. I recognize the face-
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I wonder what song my mother listened to with her friends on warm summer days like this. Driving around in that tiny red convertible I’ve heard so many stories of - the same one she mentioned driving to Florida during one night, with her friend, the night she took too much acid
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"I’m with people but we aren’t the same species." open.substack.com/pub/souled…
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Psychopathic tendencies. Refusing to offer a therapist the opportunity to confirm it.
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Death is nothing at all “I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner.”
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- written by Charles Péguy
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We’re passed the days of physically unattractive artists, sculptures, culture leaders, writers, poets.
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on a person; fat burns, cheeks tighten, movement chips away at cloudy despair around optimism. What we’re fed today is not meant to inspire. It’s melancholy, lethargy served on a silver platter, Lapped up by those starving to be justified for their negativity.
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