Context's profile

Start your new life now, She will want to spend a night with you, buddy. Shaman like skills, why do you fall so weak and slow? Big news is expected, Open yourself to the world around. Only prestige.

My eyes burn as she selects shirts from a rack awash in purples and pinks. “How about this one? Or this one?” I want to vomit upon the sickly rainbow of pastels and appliquéd witticisms. I shall wear black until they make a darker color. I find solace in a dressing room, the floor covered in consumer shrapnel. Alone. Always alone. Better that than the inundation of their energy, their willing conformity, their stares. I walk as an alien among them, longing to return to my mother ship. She sig...

She said: Nothing is real and never was. The sun greets the stars and says hello while the moon gets mad for being alone as the music plays it's low, sad tune, we listen to the sound of church bells far away which might not be there anyway . . . And I said: What?

Gonna shoot myself a turkey. Won’t settle for store-bought bird jerky. Rifle, muzzleloader, or bow, Gonna git that fat tom Up on Cumberland Plateau.

Crispy leaves crunch. Squirrels defend acorns, chitter and punch. Loons utter mournful cries As summer loudly dies.