I feel like a quiet genius amongst throngs of half-awake automatons. No one pays respect to urgency, any more. The competence of conscious concentration ceases to have value. The drizzle outside brings worms from the earth, and larvae from their homes. Eyes cloudy, clothes damp. They sort themselves like coins into a handful of categories: imbecile, idiot, mongoloid, moron. Insufferable. Solipsist. Entitled. Belligerent. Sad. The clouds clear before the crowds.
12:02 p.m. - 2016-10-03
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
My profile
Archives
Notes
Diaryland
Random
RSS
others:
As-I-know-it
Nicim
Breathe-Salt
Swordfern
Star-Brite
Swallowthkey
ATwoWayDream
HumHum
Secret-motel
AndWeBreathe
MovingSands
WeAteTheSea