Inadequacy tattooed into my shins and across my knuckles. Burden of performance rivets in the skin. Curse of knowledge brands. Or forked tongue-piercing curses. Hanging from my shoulders like leaden pauldrons. In hours-long driving to Berkeley and back, there is no rest. Having conversations in my head with mideast accents. Arriving at a hotel only to find my failures waiting for me in that tiny, pristine room. Of course they were-- I brought them with me. Everything simply too classy for second generation white trash, for certain. I'm just old and jaded and broken, and don't know the steps to any other dance than this one. I can only imagine what terrible company I must make.
11:22 p.m. - 2018-01-30
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