2/8/81, kicking back, easy on my mind, Dusty - I wish to be your business manager and lawy

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2/8/81, kicking back, easy on my mind, Dusty -- I wish to be your business manager and lawyer, apartment house manager, and boss at the radio station. I wish for no one to know what we're doing inside until they see and hear us on radio and T.V. I wish for it to then be too late for them to do anything about it, like an arrow that has hit the mark, the arrow I let fly when I walk down the street. That's the best shot anyone can give or get, thinking of Pat Benatar there for a bit. I'm running on the third rail between my legs, like an elevated train. They say that I'm always jumping on someone else's train, but as far as I'm concerned they just got off at the last stop. I don't want to brag about how good I am, I just want you to know that when I get off a bus I usually tell the passengers, "This is Captain Morgan, at your service! Transworld Airways is happy to have you aboard! Please fasten your safety belts and prepare for takeoff! May you have a pleasant trip! God bless you!" Love, "Stingray" Shiloh Stewart, Superbee. To all you beautiful people, through Dusty; up your hole, sugar, all of them, and some you don't know about yet. 10:50 A.M., Saturday, February 5, 1983, On the street Song: "I'll stop the world and melt with you!" That'll be the end of time. We can slide from there on, no more running and changing, except gradually, like a tree. My dear old paternal parent, whom I called, Dad, told me over and over again about how he wrote to his wife (my mother) everyday, and his mother at least once a week when he was in the army. (My parents got divorced when he got out, like a belated "Dear John."). And how he couldn't understand why I didn't care enough to write to him now and then. I tried to keep him in mind, but it was 'out of sight, out of mind.' Leaving his problems behind was part of what made it nice to be a runaway. I believe I could write to you everyday (no promises) because I like hitting you with my rythm stick. This could be the beginning of a 50-page letter, but I really must get downtown before the stores close. What's the biggest and longest pole you can take up your cunt?

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