Wednesday, January 12

I don't have anything to say. I've been so comfortable and complacent and cheerful that there's nothing that I'd say. Everything is somehow in it's place, wherever that may be.
Muggins is disturbingly fond of Pantera. Well I listen to it alot, so she has to. But the transformation it brings in her is incredible. She gets this dangerous dose of agression and moves around like she was a bull who owned the world. Then carpets and headphones suffer like God never intended them to.
If I had my way I'd spin everything out slowly like this and watch the Wands. The wands and coins, cups and swords. The wands strive for balance and beauty, the sensual over the sentimental. Hairy savages who hacked their gods to pieces and hung their flesh from trees. The ones who sacked Rome. Fear only feeble old age and death in bed. Don't forget who you are.
A raven's eye moon.
A baby- face moon.
A traitor's moon.


reeferjournal said...

Play her some tearstained. Please.

Murphy said...

As soon as I build a padded room I shall.