read
write
members
about
account

 

datedatememberrandomsearch

December 3, 2020
Keeping in tune with the digestible forms we inherit for managing cross-hatched winds on a landscape bereft of hospitable eyes, the ideas we spring are like rafts on an ocean that wants us dead, they keep us afloat, away from its clutches. Should we err, drift off the course with a loose glance in the brine, the outcome might bear a likeness to a meat packing plant where the rats have gone on a holiday circus festival; the teeth sink deep in mad brains suddenly being given a thought-soaked meal. So we are in this land of desperation.