Never Too Late!

Never Too Late!
any resemblance to anyone real or imaginary is mere bad luck
we are all lying in the gutter, but some of us are trying to get up


the demon-possessed can spit out nails, jagged pieces of glass, father amorth tells

i walk around spitting match-sticks

i am desperate. i buy lottery tickets. i would suck cock for a break.

i don't believe the things i find myself doing, and this time around, they don't even feel entertaining or worth writing about

life isn't a competition in brinksmanship. the palette doesn't have to be these colours of endless rainswept brutalist urban decay. there's no need to be shivering in these poisonous states

i should have taken photos or you won't believe me

it's just more of the same thing over and over again, a little bit more robbed of its magic, a little less beautiful