This is writing that doesn't fit into any particular category. It's not prose and it's not quite poetry. It's not quite sane but it's something healthy. Not all of us have it figured out. I sure as hell don't. It's a series of locutions on madness and locura.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Ad astra
Sometimes boy you've got to rise from the wreckage I know that I'm cliche I know that I'm shit But sometimes you can deal with the upper lip quiver We're all traitors to our nature.
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