Hello merry weary neurons! Wipe the stardust from your frozen pathways and bask in the glowing irregularities. They hang as oddly crafted glass bowls in the paper tree that never was. Come smell the stale aroma of hope before apathy fills them with a stagnant pond.
One third of the insane journey is done. Good grades too, despite failed plans that hissed and crashed like weather balloons before a tornado.
We're wildly happy that there's no snow to sink us in the arctic despair.
I lost a chunk of weight even though my exercise routine withered months ago. It dawned on me that the absence of nuts stopped festering the insides. Why did I force down the rancid stones all those years? A nut no more, we'll feed our provisions to the squirrels. And now, I can't stand the title of this blog.
If only the rest of the illogical mysteries could be thrown to the beasts...
Stuck in a space-time singularity
Dec 16, 2011
What's on the other side of this bladed vortex? Rubbery slices of me, freshly torn and hung out to wither.
Thick, liquid nights slurp up the city by 4pm. The meagre light that shies through is tired and grey like my aging neurons. No sparks left, just bitter darkness.
Thick, liquid nights slurp up the city by 4pm. The meagre light that shies through is tired and grey like my aging neurons. No sparks left, just bitter darkness.
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Stationary changes
Dec 4, 2011
What flimflammery is this? Sun rays every day and the lake in the distance... I moved to an apartment on the opposite side of the building. Had to get away from the crazy neighbours of the north only to be thrown into the lunacy of the south. Sanity seems to be a luxury these days.
A gentle introduction to hell
Nov 3, 2011
It rains sunny fears on smudged reflections hauled out of the comfort zone. I disintegrate on long bus rides in the name of knowledge and a cushy future. I miss the stars the most. Those summer nights when I looked up and they eagerly awaited my counting the twinkling. And I want to forget the whispers of that child enamoured with dead celestial light. In the distant space, someone could be looking up at the Milky Way and pointing at our ghosts.
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