Plastic throat singing in gaffitied back alleyways. The rusted scream of a derelict air raid siren some miles away keeps time. Paint peeling silently in the fog of dead vineyards. Oscillating through weeks on caffeine drunkenness. The incurable headaches of society. Dried ink on months-long porn scripts. Setting my life on mute, so I can watch the frostless winter sun set in the valley.
3:30 p.m. - 2022-02-03
Recent entries:
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
Discovering (In)Tolerance - 2022-02-03
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