thick_slick_sick misstree there's too much gumming up the grey matter for things to even rattle properly. they ooze around like marbles in mucous. they rest heavy on the lowest point as i hang my head. they send messages of gravity to the stomach, which churns and mutters its weird song in sympathy. everything is a little darker, slower, uglier, heavier, needier, emptier, deader than it should be. i want to flush it all out. 040315 ... stork daddy doomed, like a tarantula, like the great gatsby, to spin dark unseen webs, obscuring some truth from all but victims, but prey. the ugly neccessities. sometimes though, the twirl of a parasol, the slow jointed steps like waltzing, an acrid floor, paved over with pomp with decorum, ritual, rose colored curtains sheathing fangs. 040315 what's it to you? who go blather from