Semi-Daily Scribbles
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Category: Fear
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We interact with each other's mask(Parti Town gets brisk business)You only know the me I put onfor everyday wear Meat Is Where the Might IsThe shell is but a calling card 'Round and 'round we've been and never once have we gotten this trick right. Strange emotions and uncomfortable realizations equal the best we can…
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Work? YES!Calling what you do A JOB?Work on changing that concept into your CALLING.Our journey begins with how we name a thing. QUICK FIRE CHALLENGE … THOUGHTS! I like being the only misfit in the room. However, now that I've stumbled upon the "Lost Continent," I'm considered downright square and prime fogey material compared to…
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Even though I drew itI didn't need to cross itEverything I makeI undoYou've registered your discomfortI've rendered myself a triggerAll in the quest to learnWhat is true
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No. I can't outrun a sabre-toothed tiger. But I'll always have two paces up on you which will spare me from being a meal. #LiveToSeeAnotherDay Then I told you this: "Always know the score. As long as you know the score, ignore it and live in fantasyland. Or meet the situation head-on and change it.…
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longing for the old countrywhere its inhabitants would eat your tender bellyand spit out what would be left of any backboneyou are neither just off the boatnor are you 15 quid short of the price needed for membershipyour contacts are clouded by a pretty shade of pussy willowwhile you struggle to juggle disparate worlds in…
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Yea, for the unreasonable season be upon us, and emotions are squishy and raw. Deal with the feels if you must. But for the sake of propriety (sobriety, piety) please don't go losing your everloving mind during this Neptunian grope fest.
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Ditch the rose-tinted spectacles because clearly, as a society, we are failing one another. We can do better, yeah? Doesn't seem we want to, friend. Therefore, goals for 2018: 1.) Stay in my lane.2.) Harm no one.3.) Count myself lucky to have Brown Earth Dog as my co-pilot.
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course-correct this messpicard & riker jumped shipcourage & trust, son
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Dudes are getting in trouble for being dudes. The rest of us are scrambling to fill the positions from which said dudes (Tastemakers!) get ousted. What will the world look like when power is shifted? We are still humans, after all. Can I raise my hemline and my vibration at the same time without inciting…
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Pitchforks grasped within sweaty fists. Fair and balanced they are not, but the Tastemakers set the pace and throw shit like nobody's business. Drop and roll and duck and cover. Misery is today's Blue Plate Special. Hatred is an acquired taste. Acceptance, evidently, requires a blood test. Have willpower, Patience! You'll never be the right…
Semi-Daily Scribbles 