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Chronicling

My whole life, I’ve found it very hard to passively enjoy most anything artistic. Enjoy in the sense that somehow I don’t interpret it as some divine calling to me to create. To just appreciate withou

From a middle chapter

When someone you love dies, your current language expires. First thing to go is the tongue. Then, all treasure you buried rots. And curse the man who seeks to plunder, for they were spoken for. When s

Some scribbles from New Orleans

Friday, April 14, 2017 Bourbon street, one long back alley. Bring out your dead, your proud heathens, and your wound up weary travel toys. Bubbles logged in the fetid air, from unseen windows, despera