Pawed and retracted.
If we move to understand the mechanism's movement, we find control. Like buttons in a cockpit.
I took notes today about weight and pressure. I forget my own importance. I read about the mechanics of unrequited love. Five years is too long. Ours undone.
The Anchor hit his head, and he is again without a name. I miss miss limbs. I want to be a young person losing herself in finding herself but instead I'm writing a novel. I dream of cloud dancing and poetic, so. It's impressive, what the mind can do. It would shock a person. I'm going to paint faces today, under phrase edgebackedgebackedgeback.
Anything dark and glossy will work, Alpha. Take out the camera.
The Beta sleeps in an indoor hammock. It is cozy-spectacular and near windows. The Palace Nouvelle is a stunning place.
If you have a void in your life, a void demanding the highest of its pedigreee, and tehre's nothing to fill it...the void remains a void. Unless, of course, you compromise, but what the hell kind of artist would you be then?
It's warm up here. Join us. We have space to work and play.
What kind of life is this, where a highest dream is to build something around someone else? Give him a safe and beautiful place to live because you can not give him a name? And the horror of it, that I was able to give the Anchor a name and then, to have it taken away...and he's not even an Anchor, anymore. He is lust in a golden birdcage. And while frusterated and unsatified, he manages contentment where he had none before. He knows he is nameless, he doesn't know the name was stolen. There's no difference anyway.
As a child I had a saying thus: no time for hatred when you have a third prescence.