A doll with a cracked face cries into a clockface. She strings herself along to a lunatic's dance. I watch with oceanic patience. Elsewhere, a nomadic Roma returns to the desert. Her hands a little older from long hours and popular loneliness. We met again and broke reality along common fracturelines. Countless cars crept past rude Russian hooligans. We quietly counted zombies between bouts of laughter. We licked the wounds of each others unfortunate dissatisfaction. And made amiable plans to kill each other to death.
7:28 p.m. - 2017-07-31
Recent entries:
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