April 2012
145 posts
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resolute weariness
nothing left to offer you. unlike other players in the game, with their late night accusations and thousand page tomes of indignities forged in alcohol flavored tears and pathetic self-indulgence. it can’t be a contest of form or function, not at this age. it can’t be anything more that what it already is. and that’s something i’m woefully incapable of defining. i waited in...
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you're more real in a dream.
revise a storytelling wrought in a thousand broken firing synapses. imperatively you’ll write things down that haven’t seen the light of day since weeping was in fashion. don’t cry the story, it leaks out. open the faucet. simply think: “goodnight.”
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“Come my tan-faced children,
Follow well in order, get your weapons ready,
Have...”
– walt whitman 