coffee, cigarettes, and Chopin; oh my!

sleepless nights.

menthol lights.

all spent writing

and what better way to conclude the night but with a sunrise.

now i’ll have breakfast with some Bukowski before i backread all of the beautiful shit you guys post.

ok enough playing with words

i should probably eat something before i pass out

but god i can’t wait.

why is it that none of this exists in any bookstore

yet here on this humble little site

is more depth than they can ever hope to keep in stock

people, pixels, catharsis and emotions abound.

that’s prose.

(“prose.” THE FUCKING DOT btw. I don’t know why it’s there, but it just makes the already perfect site into something no words do justice too.)

jesus i talk too much when i don’t sleep; so i’m done :]