Webbed moods

Clearing the cobwebs of my low lying moods, I’m trying to fill this time of waiting.  I feel like I am in this space where annoying music plays, you click your fingers on the desk, roll your eyes around for some sort of entertainment as you wait, wait, wait, wait, wait on hold.  It seems too early to start super preparing, but I am ready to be in England already. 

So I am trying to keep busy and save.  It’s hard to get me out of the house, but it is getting better.  My heart aches are echoing softer as the weight of time absorbs and diffuses.

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I want you to write a little window inside kArA that i can read and marvel over.

It’s the end of all days, the one’s that I know so far that is. From one flicking of the calendar to the next keystroke of my hand, it’s the end of all days. I have this warm snuggle of a feeling in my stomach. It’s not deep, but spreading, growing into my limbs. If I close my eyes, it’s a golden like hot cider. It reminds me of that somethingisgoingtohappen, but with out the deep ache of uncertainty, the possibility that it might be bad. If you peaked into a little window of kArA, a warm breeze would whip around you, as if you had the heater on full blast during the winter with the windows down, little wisps of unseen hair would tickle your face and you would grin inside, but shine a wisdom wink from your eye. It’s the end of all days, the one’s that I know so far that is.

 

Tear.

Imagine if we could help each other with our depression. That would be cool.    Until then, photoshop.

If I were Man and you a dog…

Chemical reactions, sparkling moods.

I’m a heart beating human experiment of my own creation.  With the tapping of electronic electrons, spun in motion, a result of forming and breaking the chemically fumed bonds.  Disconnecting the equation of mood, product: unknown. phinstand1.jpg  

Words, words, words, blah to the blah blah.

I’m a mess of lazy busyness. My PC is dead along with many of my files, my photoshop and the comforting buzzing that puts me to sleep at night. Fen-Cho Min-Chex died, my fish. We buried him six fish feet down with a twig cross and some words. I have incredible amounts of polaroids to scan, but the summer heat tends to manifest more important things to do. I love it. AND I leave for London and Turkey on Monday. Yip to the eeeee!
Random Fotoes:

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Religious Meth Scented SoapBox