It's an old familiar smell. Pungent, yet comforting.
I have a certain feeling. And I've started to realize that part of the reason I like this feeling - is feeling it with others.
I want to feel this way with others.
The clocks are blinking at me. It's like Felix the fucking cat in here.
This time, I'm trying something different. I rarely pen in such a state. But here I am, Agatha flippin' Chrisie - honking down on this keyboard - each finger like (the chomp chomp chomp of hunting teeth... sharp sharp teeth - coming down on some menacing prey. ) And look at them glisten. Ivory white.
BLOOOOOOODDDDDDDDD of prey - splashed across the ivory like splattered paint.
Like Jackson Pollock.
Like bloody flippin' Marys splashing from the mixer to the glass... Splashhhh.
Shhhh Shhhh. Do you hear it...?
Listen to the shell's ear child... The ocean is inside...The ocean in the shell.
I hear it. A world inside.
If I am the shell - - - WHO is my ocean?
I'm going to fight the evil clock-time stopper goblins and try and set these digital blinkers. God of electricity try to control your temper so you do not blow out and cause my clocks to blink blink blink!
Let's say that tonight is a night of radio commercial jingle music and sunny days in dark kitchens scissor monsters in the night. Were you traumatized in Arts & Crafts? I wasn't. But maybe you were.
xoLo
If I were any stupid question I would be: Is it Hall & Oats or Holland Otis?
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