ADMISSION
The real me is a construct built of ephemeral words. Pay no attention to that flesh thing walking around.
The real me is a construct built of ephemeral words. Pay no attention to that flesh thing walking around.
The wind rushes at you, bending the sagebrush, throwing dust. Eyes to the ground, gripping your hat with your left hand, you watch your boots shuffle forward. You steer for the ravine waiting between the low hills at the far side of the flatland. If the map is right, and you know it is, the […]
The past we carry with us forever into the present and that is enough to contend with. Word, you ever unnamed 2nd Mrs. de Winter in the sequel to Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca.
when it’s twilight in the zone and you find yourself alone by a field of corn as silent as can be please do not despair simply be aware that you have been transformed into a tree
There is a sparrow on my brain Or is it that I’ve gone insane Time will tell if time will tell If there’s a sparrow on my brain (sung to the tune of Castle on a Cloud from Les Mis)