I step when the polite would stop ( Read more... )

Two eyes to see ( Read more... )

I'm in this hut
And the supports, the poles all lean in
And the tent tangled between the wayward poles
But if you push the logs
Arrange them for one moment
Between that
And the spinning
You make the big top
By centrifugal force and carefully placed beams
But careful
And you turn and it falls again

My mother told me I had to be somebody.

So I became a harlot.

If you have ( Read more... )

Do I create like the angels I see? What of the ones I don't see? Where goes my contribution ( Read more... )

Perhaps ( Read more... )

This strange city recurs in my mind. a doomed, paranoid city. The museum stares at you as you enjoy your time out with your family. It's quiet, too right, too quiet. It feels dead. It goes to bed early and does what it's supposed to ( Read more... )

Tell me, LJ dear, what have you done that makes you feel less old? Less constrained by the temporal?

There feels to be a sort of army of bots, breeding sickness and fear in my chest. I am not and will not be old. I refuse. I can't be. Am I ( Read more... )