I've spent years blowing electric kisses across internet lines to blocked inboxes. No results, except the faint and cryptic strains of unrecognizable songs. I idly wonder if this is what the beginning of madness feels like. Crushed under the weight of frequency illusion and confirmation bias. I can't hold myself up with wrists purple with exhaustion. I set my own broken fingers with masking tape and superglue, and call it a week.
9:40 p.m. - 2016-03-24
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
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