Sweep the leg is the new embolic paradigm. Each of they own stick to they own, and always always render unto Ghidorah. To talk the opposite of toxic is to talk Quixotic.
Diffident now: talked big game throughout the night but still hid still in its byzantine twists. That whiff again of the coming quiet that no one should have to endure but that everyone will have to endure --> we each ruin our lives in our own precious way.
Friday night in the penitentiary, ghosted again by the civil dead. Can’t... blame... her... though... the instinct to tuck away – tea and bickies, eyes to blight – is a strong one. Where’s that leave us, then, us smokestacks that only alight at night?
Burn away another day, faced with fate we fade away with all them other things that is lonely: scarecrows, ghosts and loneliness.
Written on Friday, 14 November 2014