Said to be the sundial of savages, the shadows where one can read the absence of the thing represented. Only during daylight of course.
Saturday, August 22, 2026
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Somewhere around mile 317 of 728 we
took to madlibbing each others' sentences. "There's real "Stylish." "And you're not it." Mo...
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My mom Sherry was the type of person who could (and consistently willed herself to) find gold in a shitpile. Even decades before "re...
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Life's like that....cantilevering one McKuen poetry moment into feet beside a hearth. We try to reason with atmosopheric forces churni...
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