Sat at the far end of a table filled with the ghosts of young men. They laugh and joke, discussing culture and irreverencies. My lungs full of hummingbird memories, I ignore them into privacy. A cloistered community of casual camaraderie clothed in cardboard competition. I observe with peripheral half-attentions the death and birth of religions. I catch myself scowling for no good reason. Because the reason is an embarrassed familiarity. And the embarrassment of the embarrassment.
6:24 p.m. - 2020-02-05
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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