Starving Artist in a Gangster's Paradise: Tweak Girl Version

If you tell me to write a paragraph I will pick up pencil with only a slight hesitation and maybe I will bless you with brief eye contact. If you tell me to get a nice job or ask for a hug I will do the exact opposite of what you ask me. Defiancy once was my main trait in my catalog of mind files. Believing that everything has a place and name is over rated for me. Why does everything in this world, tangible or not, need a fucking label? Who named this thing? Why do they feel they are important enough to give it a name? There are twenty-seven letters in the alphabet; those aren't enough letters to describe the words and feelings I come across in my life, I believe. When words fail to adjuctate the feeling or event I find myself fall into, I turn to art. Creative symbols of infamousy and fantasize colors of elemental vibrancy. The balanced algorithm of life becomes a stroke of endless characters and I become the timeless creator goddess of sub consciousness.