an old man in a thrift store check out line told me out of nowhere that i was a tiny ghoul. meaning was unclear
my mind is full of obelisks, urns, knots and flowers, arabic script
i have a soft spot which i am not longer ashamed about for the sentimental aesthetic excesses of the reagan era during which i became sentient and had very very long dark braids. this includes things like primitive-modern home decor, books on english cottages and tasha tudor, thrifted cookbooks that evoke fallen leaves and cinnamon and wood panelled half timbered split level houses, women in cabled sweaters and ankle length skirts traipsing across moors.
i spend about two hours a day thinking on lake and sea monsters but mostly the lake variety. and how sad it would be if finally some grizzled men with chapped hands caught one in a briny net and how resigned and naked and fleshy the long necked monster would be. its spirit crushed
i can never avoid laughing out loud when i hear someone shout GOD DAMNIT and one day it will get me into trouble.
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