Wednesday, February 24


i have a prostate problem in my head. i'm not as fluid as i used to be. nor fluent. it's a 'stuck in the box' routine and i realise that the blog is not too far from turning three. three and malnourished. what must be done to shrug off this ferric curse that jars every chain of thought from breaking into the erstwhile thrill of wordly sorcery that now lies lost like memoirs of magic, stripped naked by science. why must every sentence refuse to make sense in hindsight. including this.

Sunday, February 21

a change of seasons brings about the wilt and the promise of bloom is lost forever, like the colour that'll never again, be green.