desidia

But I can't find my red lucky-lefty scissors and it makes me want to go berserk.

If this ends up posting eight times I will be even more disgruntled than I am already.

And so I spent more of my time with a kneaded eraser today than anyone should.

ADDED BONUS; there was a sad, drunk haiku left days ago in the subject field from the last time I tried to post:

The dreams of children

The memories of ghosts

Who were we back then

I thought I renewed my account but it says I'm expired but I still seem to have full access...

I sit in the epitome/epicenter of rural celebrations, the eye of a storm where fireworks become thunder and you have thousands of stars to yourself.

Stop and imagine where and when your fondest memories happened. That exact spot is now in the vacum of space.

The streetcar named despair never stops, it only slows in the cold light of morning.

You just can't help but stay awake in the last deepest quiet of the year. It's tonight that the aperture of the year closes into focus with a week to consider where to point it next, and an entire other year to forget why.

But I'll sit here, waiting for three ghost to clearly and concisely state:

1) Where and when I went astray.

2)...
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Anyway, throwing money at the art supply store followed by throwing money at the bar means there are now new things to throw at you. Even though without photoshop I might as well just post them from my phone.

I know I shouldn't like glass frames with no lenses but I hope we all die in a fire.

Tonight I very much want my very own moving castle (a' la Howl/Miyazaki) but filled with the interior featured in the video from Fever Ray's 'If I had a Heart'. I could adulterate with corresponding imagery but frankly Scarlett, I don't give a shit.

In other news I'm house-sitting for my parents.

It's just me, three goats, two tomcats and an Anatolian shepherd.

And an
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