#i never ocult get the hang of wuersdays

[mumblelard]

{the shadow} (raft-hourglass-3) (i-k-was) or this may sound like gibberish but i think i'm in a seriocomic slipstream space opera without the space

in hundreds of throws, i've never drawn the shadow. i don't think i want to put words to this one. i am just going to let it stew

this week, i bagged my first dead metaphor, cliffhanger. i'm having it mounted at the local taxitropist for eventual display above my mantel

i keep thinking about the seventy-nine cent black pepper noodles i got at dekalb farmers market

i wish i could get video of boba when she decides it is too cold to inspect the porch on any given morning. it's a sniff-squint-headshake gesture that makes me resent all of the words that mug and bog and slurry my thoughts

she is not alone, to be sure, but the exuberant blossoming of my christmas cactus, clarice, does make me feel like i might be an okay person after all

i bought myself early solstice presents last week: a new pink k-42 paint marker, new earbuds, and a grippy new pair of trail shoes to attack the winter