Scooping away ego from a rotten routine. Biologically uninstalling every waste of life, one vice at a time. But losing my way somewhere between the Pyrrhic Victory and Diminishing Returns. The exhaustion comes later, the evenings get longer, and early mornings are lost behind the risen sun. I stain my sheets with unused massage oil. The smell of tides and paper help to fortify the loneliness. I save pieces of gilded cardboard for the gray fog of the future. My whole life teetering on the brink of an abrupt blue screen with pixelated white characters.
12:32 a.m. - 2020-02-27
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
My profile
Archives
Notes
Diaryland
Random
RSS
others:
Bridgecity
Babyhead
Murder
Blubbles
Frostopia
HumHum
Secret-motel
ATwoWayDream