Opening a door without words. A clatter of haphazard junk on a table. Choking muzzles and careful nuzzles as the sun sets behind an untrimmed tree. Filling a hole over and over and over, until it bruises. Slapping away the sweat and the tears. In the background, the indistinct chatter of old messages playing on a beat up answering machine. The angry squawk of narcissists repeating a message that is always about something different. Which means it's always the same.
11:04 p.m. - 2020-05-13
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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