Moi

3 Feb _2.22_static buried under the echoes of a frozen over sea of skin, inflection begging for connection3 Feb _2.22_
to black smoke tearing through the ruins of autotelism landscape turns into escapism turns into disposability and no one bothers to notice the shift in definition if all of these people are so close, fucking like fireworks under
low ceilings and losing days to nervous habits and fragmented confusion, why do questions still need to be asked? nothing needs to be said; nothing needs to exist


2 Feb.avant-garde or ordinary; promising the depersonalization of symmetry. (vast.)2 Feb.
old photographs of who? as a baby, hidden in the dirt, burned. they mean nothing to anyone. the only point of residing in a
contaminated world is just so that one could prove his point: apathy and detachment are the only things that matter. prerequisite connectivity deserts a person minutes, seconds after it arrives and desertion stays
in a little hole in the ground, maybe in your heart, maybe in the cheap dreams of those who bleed or those who sleep.


February.I hate the voices of women repeating themselves under white ceilings, shaking their heads,February.
condescension laced into their
thin, severing voices. I hate the voices of women speaking, singing, evoking cramped, dry feeling calling my name calling me by the wrong name telling me it's okay, that they're just a little "out of it," "maybe confused," ("maybe not so much.") I hate their sick,
toneless, apathetic, pathetic
unending voices repeating themselves under white ceilings,
fracturing any collective thought.
you should go do stuff about it <.<; just my opinion, the a better world where stuff gets done.
ja ne.
--
Rainbows should be all black...
Hope you've been well...and yes I remember the name from Gaia. By the way, HAPPY NEW YEAR! *sneaks in reason to yell* heehee
Note me sometime, or just email me. It's not like it's a hard name to find...just choose whether you'd like to reach me using yahoo or gmail, and use the same name I've got here in devart.
--
Before an important decision someone clutches your hand--a glimpse of gold in the iron-gray, the proof of all you have never dared to believe.
(Dag Hammarskjold)
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