happiness #276: tendons crippled with exhaustion, feet considerably bruised by the masochistic impulse of crowd-thrashing. Sleepily resting between the bodies of two star-surpassing fellas in the backseat of the most gracious solar-struck lad and lass of manmanbatonrougehalftripping history.
I should like most to listen to Joanna Newsom's album Ys with the windows agape in the late afternoon during a cooling summer shower. strumming deep with the resonations of a soul-shattering symphony rubbing sensuously into my bones
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i'm physically sickened by the insecure rudeness characterized by last night. i don't know what to do with how i feel about it. i definitely don't like him enough to put up with it, but i know i could.
the faces of roadkill (when they're portrayable) are truly horrific.