Hundreds of thousands of cardboard rectangles. Etched with innumerable permutations of Brothers Grimm. My childhood reconstituted into bite-sized pop-culture opulence. I dream of the earth opening up and swallowing those responsible. Even etched into the memories of my childhood, nothing is sacred. It's all just an ostensible twenty year cycle of merchandised nostalgia, over and over. There once was a time where fables were the tales meant to teach of society and culture. Needed now-- more than ever-- with absentee and adolescent parents. They're now little more than brightly-colored identity-signifiers. The world needs a good, undeterrable natural disaster.
11:17 p.m. - 2019-10-04
Recent entries:
Some Fall Moments - 2019-10-23
That Blessed Arrangement - 2019-10-16
Silvertree - 2019-10-16
Shady Lady Fading - 2019-10-10
Fettered Fidgeting - 2019-10-09
My profile
Archives
Notes
Diaryland
Random
RSS
others:
Murder
Blubbles
Frostopia
Secret-motel
ATwoWayDream
HumHum