"palimpsest"

"I have come to to wound the autumnal city" - Dhalgren

What abrupt handling of the head and what taste of persimmons. From the mixed red angular lighting step shadowmen all lusting for their girls. Into the alternating shafts of red and black and amber and black and auburn and black and ruby and black we go, in our hands the implements of basic-ry and fundamental-ness.

"Yes. To the airport, quickly."

Then out of the stars we read last week like bones we heard a dim signal a music of statics pocket-sized and radiant. And nobody loves you like me, so who the hell do you think I am?

(no subject)

today is the true first post, whatever anybody else says, whatever else this journal says, it didn't start before march twenty eight oh three.

backdating is too powerful to resist.