Lovers trickle out of a hole in my head. I've spent years stopping it up with glue of attentions. Made from the gelatin of bones and squandered time. I abandon old and unreciprocated loyalties for new and flimsy justices. My patience for casual extravagancies and indoctrinated social mores runs thin. Older age brings a film of clarity to my scratched and whitening eyes. Everything fits into a clean and sterile machine of an infinity of gears. My patience for cogs has turned to sand, and I don't fit in well, any more. I salve the dissatisfaction by learning to empty my mind. Drain the chatter of zombies, and fill the empty space with the thickness of nothings. A void of sanctuary from surrealism, for hours a week.
11:52 a.m. - 2017-02-13
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Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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Elliptical - 2018-06-25
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