Escapees from the sanitarium up the hill, wandering the streets openly. Social constructivist babble falling from rotten mouths. Trying to make top-down logic work by turning the world upside-down. The stick has been abolished, and every torn and faded propaganda poster, a carrot. More than enough to paper the streets. A shouting match behind violently waved flags. I lock my door and turn the thermostat down to 60. Crawling into my bed of nostalgia while I shrug on my comfortable white jacket of buckles and straps.
3:14 p.m. - 2020-10-07
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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