Sublime exhalations with lungs half-full of crushed glass. The cold sweat of manufactured death on my cheeks. Too much blood in my caffeine stream. Imagined evenings of mental flourishes, murdered by short-week laziness. Dry lightning storms in the valley. The unmoving corpse of a stolen owl, damp with cardboard. Evenings of trying to dodge the suffocating heat with perfect stillness. My lifelong call to performance oozing out toward the cold and unconcerned stars.
4:08 p.m. - 2021-09-10
Recent entries:
The Uncertainty of Coal - 2021-09-22
Mostly Unbroken Repetition - 2021-09-17
Still Sadly, The Process - 2021-09-17
As An Easy Gallop Upwards - 2021-07-10
A Confluence of Names - 2021-09-10
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