Cosmia by Joanna Newsom completes my life. True story.
I find myself being too fickle lately, and the obvious source is only taking the volatile to a more exaggerated place. Rather then resolving it in a more sensible manner the electronic pixelations will have to suffice as a form of disturbing catharsis and excuse. I blame all of this on insecurities and anonymities. Reason number four. Damned reason number four.
Cam someone say remedial? Or even preposterous or pure insanity.
I need to sleep like the conventional proletrain ethereals.
Maybe even start acting like them.
chirp chirp...