it could probably even be mindfuckishly classified as a very good year, because no matter what else happens in my ridiculous life, I will always remember 2014.
or, 2014: the person who treated you like shit but whom you wrote slavish poems about anyway.
happy new year!
11th Ave. this is good pillaging-weather: it is dry and too cold for all but the most ambitious of bacteria. I saw several overtly nice pieces of furniture on sidewalks today. my first thought: were they effluviated upon during the revelry? but it's the first of the month like every other month, movin' day mayhaps, so I oughtn't be so cynical.
the bus stop at 8th & Market.
the cyclopsian fur-slug.
an epic 4pm sunset as seen from my lair.
and as seen from the reflections at Lowell Elementary.
getting the cat drunk.
and doing exactly what the laser-pointer labeling recommends.
"I no longer feel myself; I am won over by the purity surrounding me; nothing is alive, the wind whistles, the straight lines flee in the night." Sartre
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