; lyht leaves the eyes—expelled by a relentless laesr of poignant realisation that reality is but absurdism x impossibility.

Sunday, 12 September 2010

not so much a face as it is an expression of predicament

while the perpetrators of my birth are away at phuket, i'll be spending my time cooking waffles in my underwear, trying to read a single man by christopher isherwood with whatever time i'm granted through the week. the first page is already intriguing, and while i might not be able to identify with being middle aged, i can certainly identify with the misplace or distortion of identity.

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