June 2009
2 posts
The Pretty Facsimile
Little deaths.
You think you have alot to say until you get out there to say it.
Smothered by smell of cattle, a million heaving lungs, all waiting in line beside you for that one little piece of recognition, piece of justification, peace of mind. Talking endlessly into the ether, the difference between like-minds and self-importants. But in the end, the self-importants win. Cruel joke, I know.
I threw this...