Smoke Mirror

I am fucking sleeping in tomorrow. I'm worn thin, like a sheet, or a screen.

Wrapping up the Present

No more Nornery. Some things are such a shame.

Feel good, feel ready. Years should start in Spring-they used to. What reasonable civilization begins its years in the dead of winter? Damnable two-faced gods, Terminus Est. My life is like quicksilver running down the blade of a beautiful sword. Weight shifting and writhing in my grasp. I'm coming around. I'll tie the presidential election in here somehow.

It's all change right now, echoing all over my day. It's good to be out there on the edge. Maybe I'll see it coming.