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Born Slippy. NUXX [entries|friends|calendar]
Kale Night

[ website | A Broken Winter ]
[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

Now it's gone away. [19 Jan 2011|07:20pm]
[ mood | contemplative ]

Cut. Potentially NSFW.Collapse )

(3 got lost.|Find me.)

[11 Jan 2007|12:12am]
[ mood | annoyed ]

-48ºC (-54ºF) is the point at which I'm willing to admit it's too fucking cold.

I think I'll stay inside tomorrow.

(2 got lost.|Find me.)

Archangélique [17 Jan 2006|12:11am]
[ mood | sore ]

You are beautiful, like fear.
You are mad, like one dead.


- Georges Bataille

(11 got lost.|Find me.)

[15 Jan 2006|04:13am]
[ mood | sick ]

Updating this thing is like pulling teeth, only less pleasant.

Spend enough time being sick and you gain a steadily dwindling list of physical aberrations you feel justified in complaining about. Everything else is a footnote.

(1 got lost.|Find me.)

Screaming into the eye of the lens. [13 Sep 2005|04:01am]
[ mood | crushed ]

My fingers ache from folding paper stars. You'd think that would encourage me to stop, but it doesn't.

Peace. Peace. Triangle. Square. Peace. Square. Triangle.

The man on the bicycle is being eaten by seagulls.

I only watch the colour without the sound, but it's good to have them both.


I want to smash it up.
I want to break it down.
I want a wall of tears to wash away.

(3 got lost.|Find me.)

Clockwork cats clawing at the dawn. [03 Sep 2005|10:23pm]
[ mood | indescribable ]

My father shot it. I stepped on the wings, pinning them to the ground. Gripping the feet and tugging them firmly upward rends the fragile bones from the rest of the body. Stomach, intestines -- all of the unneccessary parts spill away. We left them by the side of the road for the bears to eat. I kept the tiny heart in my hands. It continued to beat until I climbed back in the truck.

(9 got lost.|Find me.)

Footsteps in the dark. [25 Aug 2005|05:53pm]
[ mood | bitchy ]

I'd like to know what I did to my throat. Feels like I swallowed a fucking tack. It's done wonders for my disposition, to say the least. My skin is also protesting recent excessive exposure to the sun and has proceeded to molt. I'm like a fucking leper. I leave chunks wherever I go.

Not even when the early birds
Danced on my roof with showery feet
Such music as will come from rain -
Not even then could I forget
The rabbit in his hours of pain;
Where, lying in an iron trap,
He cries all through the deafened night -
Until his smiling murderer comes,
To kill him in the morning light.


- The Rabbit, W.H. Davies

(2 got lost.|Find me.)

[18 Aug 2005|11:46pm]
[ mood | curious ]

Who the hell is responsible for the recent popularisation of the word 'cooter'?

Nevermore. [14 Aug 2005|09:46pm]
[ mood | blank ]

I take it back.

I keep expecting to see broken airplane models strewn along the side of the highway; dumpsters stuffed with maps of stars having long-since ceased to burn.

We could do it all again, and everything would still be the same.

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