we don't have any idea what nature intended for us anymore. in fact, we never did. there's no such thing as conventional, because anything goes.

Well, who knows if i'll ever quit being a wreck from time to time? I sure don't.

But I'm calm. Especially just now.

Be even calmer if I knew what to bounce off of. Charlie Huston novels set a bad example.

woo. tired. bedtime.

Miranda ("mi RAN duh") is the eleventh of Uranus's known satellites. Miranda is the innermost of Uranus' large moons ( Read more... )

who built the love?

are you in today?

[addictive band]

i maintain that i care not who the fuck reads this. it's for me. just so happens people can stalk my life a little bit if they like to interpret cryptic bullshit. i'm down.

is it?

Why must i be so truly and utterly alone?

one more time, just one more.
we'll stare at what we can before
the light sweeps in to steal the shore.
beneath our toes slip hourglass lessons.
by now the foam's a sea-balm crystal
hailing chunks of frosted palms, mid-caress
fingers trailing on a breeze that rustles leaves.
memories crackle against sickly, blackly carbonated trust.

shouldn't have shouldn't have shouldn't have done that. shouldn't have done it. no.

i'll never be the crusader i could have been.

but me, i'm no good.
i sink my hooks into bumpers
of shiny, whiny,
passing automobiles. something should
whisper, eventually,
a clue to what "nature" intended to
see by divesting
herself into individual
facets. sparkly things
suck me dry and enthrall. can't they
complement something?
do i seal my own fate to fall?