The Black Monday Murders greeted me in an old, yellowed newspaper. I squint at the blurry words by the gray and waxing light of rainclouds. I'm made hyper aware of my poor investments by spiky and indecipherable line graphs. Paying small amounts of life into a growing pool of wastefulness. That's my discipline. Investing into more efficient ways to squander my time. Parceling out my time is like chopping off my hand to give to someone else to use. Maybe I set myself up in this trap-shot corner so I can loathe the world on sufferance.
11:41 a.m. - 2016-11-28
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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