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 [save as]

yeah, I don't know. ramble ramble.