I like to tell myself I don’t believe in “loved”, past-tense, like the word
does not exist,
but now I’m skidding gripless into the dark ex-phone booth closet
in the shut-down connection corner of your mind
and there’s a lock there, on the outside waiting for me
So I’m taking this blog over
Though I run it anyway.
This is now predominantly a blog for when I decide to wax poetic, with intermittent skate photos, sprinkled-in (but probably more than moderate amounts of) attractive women, some dumb fashion stuff I actually care about, and weird pictures of myself I refuse to call selfies though we all know they probably are.
Thanks, and here goes a lot.
I think once you’ve thought about how a person sleeps, how they’d feel pressed up against your back, or your head on their chest, how compatible your bodies would be in the same space of a bed — once you’ve thought about that, you’re fucked.Yep. Pretty much. But in a good way…That is, the best way possible.