Semi-Daily Scribbles
Carving out a corner to post random crap.
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Category: Dreams
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The Silver Needle Theatre appears when foresight steals the spotlight. She's the only venue equipped to show what can only be seen inside the mind. So here I am in the balcony, watching you speak to a packed house. You are dressed in your best white button down, blue jeans, and grey suede shoes. Your…
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what you see beneath ussupporting all our doubt and despairare bankers boxes full of paperdefaced with coordinates on howwe were supposed to steer this ship now the return is delayed on our uncharted trip we may as well be carried on this tricky wind andcount all the ways we can fuck up the simplest things …
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What I have to offer you on Beltane doesn't pertain to fire, flowers, or fornication, but fertility is definitely in the mix. I give you aspects of me washed ashore by the sea. You know my heart is bobbing out there on the ocean. The little blue bag before you is filled with treasure to…
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Soul got foreclosed onSource says:Git outta yer head!Night of Tentacles
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Dana tells me to keep that fucking door shut. She says every time I come back through it, I'm a different person. I ask her why's the door there if not to be opened? It's a gateway to ruin, Dana says, and you've never been able to leave the dead alone. Stay clear for once.…
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Picture the journeys we've embarked upon that have led us to this aisle, staring up at the same title, wondering if we've found that lost thing we could never quite nail down. What is found was never lost. Let go of the illusion of going with the flow. We agreed upon this meeting place —…
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I'm supposed to be moving day-to-day command center operations from the head to the heart, or so sayeth 2017. Never been much good with plumbing the murky depths of Feelings and Emotions. Too many bends in the pipe. Reckon emotivity is good for something, but what an awful sticky thing. Way easier to let that…
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You have no discernible shape. You are all pulsating gray matter and no body. I want to give you form. I want to give you a frame from which to hang your sentiment and shame. You rise and roll right up over me. No string, no tail. Nothing to grab onto at all. My hand…
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I'm sad that I'm not sad that you went out in the rushes and you never came back. Poor trade-off is what it is – no guarantee the demon'll flee after your fiery stage left exit. Who did you save? And is your good name any less difficult to pronounce now they've brought the curtain…
Semi-Daily Scribbles 