Well, I suppose- nothing ever looks the way it should.
I wonder if success tastes like resin and desert sand, beach glass in the wrong places-
beeswax and toxic fixer, time and money, grubby hands and fresh faces. Wait, never mind - old faces in new places. The hole in my heart where a hole should be.
My calendar map, a life in tribute to the ones who have bit the dust. Gabba gabba hey Lee Mellon, here's a fucking blog.