Stolen secrets from the pockets of a naive woman. Feeding them to a broken compass that points to the future. Promissory estoppel gambling by millimeters. Clean edges and unsmudged ink. A change of guard ensures a perpetuation of The System. System. Feel that in your body. The System. Bipedal shuffling into little boxes, to feed empty heads through the eyes. In the distance, two imaginary lines plot further and further apart. Cycling back, inevitably to cutpursing zombies.
11:54 a.m. - 2018-08-27
Recent entries:
Out of State - 2018-09-03
Plenty - 2018-09-03
Dirty Yellow, Smudged Platinum - 2018-09-03
Increasing Velocity - 2018-08-27
Thunderous Valleyways - 2018-08-27
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