a project of skill-less and dead-author labor turned dead-text turned dead-reader, love
affair with space, some cloud to influx information without regard for human eyes. &poetry
Tuesday, July 17, 2018
a game in physical, transfer, self-indulgent to combat fear
unproductive, but consumer-furries.
sitting on the edge, slouching on the edge of glory.
*this house just ain't a home when she goes away*
darkness to lecture, every day. flesh for text, *anytime she goes away*
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