update

These days all I do is cry on trains listening to my headphones and watch the blood pop out of the skin of middle Americans in tiny pinpoints. The whir of the needle and the moan of the train whistle. The delta. The spires of my fair foggy city. Dusty books and paintbrushes and heavy metal and the heat of summer seeping into my bones.

Michelle wrote something beautiful. It is here,.

I have a lot of art projects in the works. I'll let you know.