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This is what it could look like when one completely deconstructs a life as one knows it, and how to build from the ground up. Alternatively, this is a fresh look at an old story. The fine art of falling apart.

my new writing machine

my new writing machine
Originally uploaded by
Abstract Magdalene.

If I were the classier sort of girl, that typewriter up there would be an Underwood. I have to find some ribbons for it. It will be a bit like being a detective to find the right ones. I really have no idea how to start.

I've eaten about 5 chocolate Popsicles tonight. Something about the texture is really appealing to me every time I pass by the fridge. And now that I want to go to sleep, the guy who lives upstairs is testing out his bass equipment. I wonder if I have enough moxy to knock on the ceiling with the broom handle, as though I live in prewar New York City.

I've rediscovered the song Black by Pearl Jam. So, I've been falling asleep to the sad story every night.

I really am going to die alone and Buckley will chew my knuckles and wrists for food while he waits for family to realise it's been a couple of week since anyone has heard from me and come calling.


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