and march ninth mind fuck.

march eighth mind fuck.

"Allas, ye lorders, many a fals flatour
Is in youre court, and many a losengeour
That plesen you wel more, by my faith,
Than he that soothfastnesse unto you saith!"
- Chaucer

every opening night.

"what's with the puppydog eyes?"
i think i said too much, but.

working toward catharsis.

( 'more cushion for the pushin'.' )

my subconscience is so messed up right now.

( point of interest. )

( wikipedia! )

man, i'm funked right now.
too much introspection.