(no subject)

I've been cleaning my studio, it's been awhile. I found bits of paper from 20 years ago. I quit after an hour since my retinas blew out from too much color over-stimulation. Like being stuck in a kaleidoscope.

"A Mott the Hoople record?! I didn't know I have one of those!...this sucks."

What am I supposed to do with all this really bad poetry I wrote when I was in high school? (yes maggie, I still have the scroll)