(empire stasis)

My brain is a scrapbook holding up the end table once we've remembered everything.

Until then, though, let's sift and worry. let's laugh away our shames. look back well on the women that made us and broke us. the men we'd like to hang. scribble a skull on that familiar face we see every fucking day just to wonder what it might be like to be undead. wonder what the fuck it was we were singing before our slackjawed asses lifted our glasses up and out of frame.

Let's just swing that sentiment. again and again and again. spend the end of a perfectly fine day of fucking about under flourescent lights listening to mclusky like they were the cat's goddamn pajamas (because when i think about that shouting match in jersey i realize that they just might have been and not near enough folks this side of the atlantic coast will ever know) and stave of bed another two hours.

Life's better in delirium anyway.