Voices in the half-lit dark of strange backyards. Failing plastic sheets and discarded recyclables. Normcore zombies in towels, burlesque and street clothes. Back rooms cloistered between dying halogen. The crack of nine tails muffled by a filthy mattress. Static in my jugular. Overpainting as a sexuality shield. Stone-cold sober, drunk on control. I watch as others drown in insecurity and shame. Control-F: replace instances of 'perceive' with 'project'. cmd shutdown /s
1:33 p.m. - 2022-10-20
Recent entries:
The Mouth of Babes - 2022-11-17
Studio Singularity - 2022-11-17
All You Do Is Hurt Me - 2022-11-17
On Being Very Sorry. - 2022-11-17
The First of Several Debts - 2022-11-17
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