Zombies pile into the streets during spring. Flowers bloom and I squint at the sun in the early morning. Corpse flowers with tiny eyes hide for months during the season of spores. I spread my patience across weeks of practice. Amber spirals glow shades of love and hate. Projected on inverted screens inside my head. I've missed the point, again. The disdain sticks to my hands despite dozens of washings. I dig out old vinyl records that I've never heard. The lectures etched into black grooves tell me things I've known without knowing for a very long time. Without the zombies, I wouldn't be Me.
1:44 p.m. - 2017-04-10
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
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