Faux-marble, comically sculpted into the shape of paideia. Layers of grease and smoke as his ornamentation. I quietly stalk the synthetically-carpeted floors inside. Thousands of zombies drinking in the strobelights. Hundreds of stairs that lead nowhere on purpose. COVID-19 on every handrail and fixture. Finally finding a room of my own. And discovering that my loneliness has been waiting inside for me. We bed down against the smell of mindlessly smoked cigarettes, and wait for the world to end with a whimper of outrage and ignorance. Words words words. Cheap and metallic and oily like the miles of payout trays.
11:58 p.m. - 2020-03-12
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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