I seem to suck at photography unless I'm alone and taking pictures of natural things. Virtually every shot I took in DC and New York came out horrible. (So I've omitted almost all of those.)( piktors )
so besides all that,
i seem to be digesting some pasty muck of panic,
and I feel like I've not been here before.
these bats are hollow, though, and passably shuttered to ceiling when words will them.
I had a dream that I had a rectangular-prism block of sorts in my pocket.
On each long side were written two lines of a poem.
I can't remember any of it, unfortunately, but it began by dipping one's emotions in a sort of marshy agitation and ended with an immensely cathartic, uplifting couplet.
it was actually similar to what a lot of prog rock epics do near their endings [reaching, after twenty-some minutes, some bit about the ocean or the sun or a seed growing or being home or being whole]--example 1
[save as], example 2
yeah, I don't know. ramble ramble.