The incense sears my sinuses and curls around the room in golden ratios, and settles into the corners in the shapes of long-lost friends. I chew cherry blossom petals that taste like epiphanies and stain like tobacco. I recite the Seven Codes of Bushido across my forearms with a silver needle and purple lotus ink.
Sometimes, there is only the enlightenment of routine. Even in the pursuit of emptiness.
11:44 p.m. - 2015-05-26
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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