writer's bloc. too much clock for too little too doo. i haven't lifted a whole arm in days and even less a thorough (at most) thought. the rain has finally cleaned the once thick metropolitic air around us in favor of moving things around inside a bit. but not too much, or too little?
their isn't a dark place to hide in this home I've made about me. not a 'nuf dim lit luminescence in here to quake the shoulder into losing it's dangling armness.
wakey wakey forgetten-fingers and blow a bulb up. stupid head-ache. mumbly river rocks.