Labels: graphic journal, inspiration, montreal, Sentimental Garbage

Labels: passages, resultalogie, revolution, tide, titles

You can hack
my mainframe

Never will
I let you
recognize
Well observed

Labels: alarming truthness, notes

How many candles will burn for us when our wings float on a blanket of tar?

Today is a wonderful day. Today is a revolting day. Tomorrow is a storm of risks and rewards that will cling to one cheek of a sorrowful moon, as waste is flung across its eye. 

We're done here.

We keep searching for back roads to a place that we've never known... but why would we even get lost? We can't even walk alone. We hide in cities that crush our bones. Nobody can hear our dreams growing like cranes.

We're done here.

Let's go to the river. Let's build a boat. Forget all our dishes. Forget all our soap. I will give you a feather plucked from the neck of a horse. It will lift your heart and push your corpse.