Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy, and all the tricks my body knows ― the opposable thumbs, the kneecaps, and the mind clicking and clicking — don’t seem enough to carry me through this world and I think:From “Spring Azures” by Mary Oliver
how I would like to have wings — blue ones — ribbons of flame. How I would like to open them, and rise.
Just kidding, please don’t insult me, I’m a Leo.
I’m open to collaborations, workshopping ideas, or simply chatting about the man-made horrors of our late-stage-capitalist world.
Whatever floats your boat.
When was your last confession, anyway?
