Suspicious squinting at rainbow noise. Neon chromatics splashed across the back pages of an old magazine. First world opulence, masquerading as mandatory. An ocean of masks called placebo and social responsibility. Riots in the streets. While we're all distracted, bipartisan wings reshape the world silently. The lights in our civilization fade into the dim light of the emergent stars, one at a time. My bag is almost packed. Carefully prepared for the long and inevitable trip to the sea. Living out the rest of my life with clay-caked arms, behind a nuclear sunset. No masks. Just purple petals, old age, and a sleeping sparrow.
11:56 p.m. - 2020-07-15
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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