Sky blue impotence beneath aircraft-rent skies. Praying for a whistle of erasure in the pregnant moments of vibration. Regrettably, placidity. Blod clots drowned in putrefaction. Half-cortex staggering through the afternoons. Consciousness drifting coudily on small pools of bathtub oil. Sleep playfully swatting away my half-coma attempts at negotiation. You know what? Fine. Who needs rest, anyway. Sophomorically solved by mouthfuls of pepper and an IV of norepinephrine.
1:48 p.m. - 2022-10-05
Recent entries:
Urban Studio One - 2022-10-20
Babysitting Culture - 2022-10-20
A Street Not Near - 2022-10-14
Strung Out Consequences - 2022-10-12
A Task Done but Unfinished - 2022-10-05
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