Evenings of sterilized cherry vodka, hidden without words in plain sight. Right angled laughter. Missing pieces of a nourished life. Early evenings dovetail into too-late mornings. Driving through the canvas shantytowns of highways. Carefully guarded eye contact. Slurred intentions set on repeat like a broken record. Sloppiness as a metaphor for Only Lovers zombies. Which is to say, everyone. And the air thick with shame and resentment. Time to jettison your soul, and crowdsource your superego. Don't worry. The valium and marijuana will help.
4:14 p.m. - 2022-02-03
Recent entries:
The Gasping of Sleep - 2022-02-24
Better Than Divorce, I Guess - 2022-02-21
Out Of Obligation - 2022-02-09
Writing Desk - 2022-02-09
Juxtaposed Against Nothing - 2022-02-09
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