The infinite and borrowed debt of zombies materializing in real time. The gray and bleak emptiness of our lives laid bare. "It doesn't even feel like Christmas." Echoed over and over from mouths distended into upside-down horsehoes. Wailed piteously-- and almost piously-- like a modern day carol. "It's just a strange time." This is what society looks like when it's forced to examine it's own loneliness. When even media has become fatigued at telling everyone what to think. The whole of the world has become a mirror waiting on the reflection on the other side to do something first. To signal it's interest in itself. The hollow bits inside splashed across all of society. Only to find the broken remains of three spheres of pyrite, and nothing else.
4:34 p.m. - 2020-12-23
Recent entries:
Dreams of Swallows - 2021-01-07
Naughtiness at Night - 2021-01-07
Antipacifism - 2021-01-04
Evening Glories - 2020-12-31
Hangboard - 2020-12-31
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