GENERATED TWEETS ❋ Emilie Lafleur

This is the season of lights.
Life is a related fourth lesson: misfortune.

Crying is too human a blank slate. I give up on my writing,
the very thing I sell hatred of.

My spring aesthetic is a conceptual poem about
political ugliness.

Is giving it up what makes it?

Gone is my love for literary theory. I have to stop thinking about
Chris Burden, literally.

Metaphor is an art piece. What happens if I write about queer women?

Keep wading, then.

Until 1:38 a.m.

Destroy my emotional landscape. This is imagery of my true self.
Welcome to all the full moons.

My horoscope says:
winter is rapid heartbeat, suffocating sensation, blurry vision, sweaty palms.

Montreal, I’m now artist trash. I’m experiencing belated, anachronistic
teen angst.

I’m just as crazy without you. It is beautiful.

I don’t want to water you.

I’m going on social media.

I’m ignoring the top-knot trend.

Nostalgia is completed, exit the fucking line.