Vibrant dreams of face-trimming. Uneven cheeks rent by an old and trusty pair of scissors. Fat deposits laid bare by the harsh light of bathroom bulbs. Teeth-beneath jowels accidentally revealed for all to see. Making a dream-addled decision that small stitches are unnecessary, as black incisions fuse together well enough. All harbingers for late mornings of geriatricism and existential malaise. Time sneaking away through a sieve of distractions. The ache of effort. The frustration of inevitable impotence. It only gets worse from here.
2:17 p.m. - 2022-12-29
Recent entries:
If It Looks Like Word Salad - 2023-01-18
Creating Coal - 2023-01-12
It Could Be Called 'Unfortunate' - 2023-01-12
Twenty-twenty Ambivalence - 2023-01-05
Without Lights - 2023-01-05
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