Drowning expectations in the kitchen sink. The inevitable infanticide of joy that comes with modernity and old age. Psychic tinnitus from a world turned up to eleven. You don't even need to shout; even people who don't score in the decibels are triple digits on the wattage. Zebras don't have ulcers. But they don't have gratitude, either. And though the solution may be San Junipero, we're never going to make it. And yet, the map of the universe looks precisely like our internal silhouette.
3:37 p.m. - 2022-04-07
Recent entries:
Codex Fetishism - 2022-04-21
An Accidental Art Cat - 2022-04-21
Sometimes Solutions - 2022-04-15
Cloud Castle Life - 2022-04-15
Hometown Best Friend - 2022-04-15
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