Music:crown me king- colorless black idols sleep furiously
"shazam" though clenched teeth.
you realize, of course, that i'm not the one cultivating this persona. instead, i am the pitted iron core around which the comet forms. all the streaming charm is nothing more than dirt & ice dazzled off by the sun. all very beside the point, unless you are siberia. & some of these frigid gulags i call friends are. but to burn the candle at both ends is my way. spread, oh malice, at any cost to myself. oh but i'm ruminating on nothing much in particular. just turning a well worn stone over & over again in my pocket. i don't know! i have some pleasent kind of irish mobster feeling tonight. a dull ache of cowboy here & there. a bruise of samurai across the whole thing. but the more i think about it the further down the metaphor i want to do. & i told myself i wasn't going to rail against heaven, to condemn this broken seraph me, to dwell upon this cult of iron & darkness.