kasatka:
Me, me, me.
People have evolved into steaming piles of bad movie clichs and faux-counter-counter-revolutionaries, stuck in some posh armchair of lace with a laptop strapped into their hands, told by their own sense of self-importance to skillfully bang their digits on a keyboard until some pallid ichor of meaningless dribble spews forth from their heads, in a fashion unkind to describe to all of you well behaved...
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polly:
i'd like to do some sort of cartwheel walk at some point as well. when i'm good enough to do them really slowly. !
stiles:
Jesus, Minden? At least there's an In and Out down the road...and watching the tourists roll rental SUVs down the kingsbury grade never gets old.
In the many existences of a saintly poet, some are great and mighty, some are academic numbness, and some are forgotten broken soldiers of moral pseudonyms. How would it be that a chance encounter with the pen can from it ignite a spark, a fire, and, ultimately, a smoldering ember of literary reminiscence? The warrior fights to spill blood as the philosopher thinks to spill...
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