Abandoned lives under the eaves of sharp clouds. Tattooed purple with the conceit of made-up language. The make-believeness isn't the hubris-- it's the words, words, words. Wittgenstein was right. There is only nothing just past the breath of tongues. But it's worse than that. Because no one can understand one another with menagerie ears. Finely polished into chamber mirrors. Slivers of everything. White noise as our only meal.
4:23 p.m. - 2022-05-27
Recent entries:
Yellow and Gold and Honey - 2022-06-02
Yellow and Gold and Honey - 2022-06-02
Yellow and Gold and Honey - 2022-06-02
Bone Broth - 2022-06-02
Unordered Expectations - 2022-05-27
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