the clouds were stormy and the sky peach—i snapped pictures, changed lenses, kept snapping, and when i was done i sat down, satisfied, before realizing that there was no sd card in gertie, and got a nice chuckle out of the whole thing
finding that the nub my life has been whittled to remains, has always been, or perhaps has just begun to be a fertile rock for which the moss of tidings clings and harbors and spreads, that only now, having had much of my experiential glories stripped, can the dance take another—
the way the world relates to you changes, and instead of the constant snowfall of ash it feels as though rain has begun to fall, the drops pattering upon the crust and buildup, wiping away for the skin underneath
i called out ‘help, please! won’t somebody help me?’ and i heard a mouse squeak, and i knew i would be alright—i closed my eyes and the devil roared and shook my body mightily, i kept them closed and could feel the contact point on my stomach—it is difficult to sleep, but i hope