A force that’s always tired.

The level of trash in my car is a direct representation of my current level of stress.

Whirring Room

The air conditioning is out. But even if it wasn't it wouldn't matter. The heat and humidity seep through the walls. Their little black tentacles swirling and twirling through every little crevice. I lay prostrate. A fan on a chair by my bed. The motor, a comfort, like the sounds of the womb. I sleep.... Continue Reading →

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