Bass and boxiness, and the vibration of houses. Wordless chanting in the cutting timbre of minor keys. The rain, a long and unremembered dream, finally comes wrapped in a tornado clusterbomb. More singing-- without words-- in a frenzied culmination of wails. Rose candles that burn too quickly. And vanilla ice cream with rose petals as a final dessert, before the inevitability of hurricanes. Somewhere else, a Sunday tribunal of misfortunes. Unfavorable sentences writ in nonsense legalese. Mourning through the mornings. Play-acting at chivalry. Pain. Loss. Peace.
11:57 p.m. - 2019-11-27
Recent entries:
Thanking the Pandemonium - 2020-11-26
Simplicity of Sometimes - 2020-11-25
Bubblebeams - 2020-11-18
Red Blue Green Purple - 2020-11-11
Too Young to Descend - 2020-11-11
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