the dog, the dog, he’s at it again
prose poetry and fiction
兄と弟
the glory
John wanted to write a book.
rita
afterimage
🪬
hole
fantasma
children of the lamia
pink hearts made of pig skin
dear johanna,
birmingham, 1977. you’re finally free, listening to the new procol harum’s album in the back of a van, high on hash brownies, watching some drunk punks fighting over a piece of burger from the trash. here’s what you’re thinking of:
little march of déconstruction
on a happy note
so they plowed the virgin soil of carthage
right after a successful game of *kottabos*, a man drops dead out of boredom
breakfast
levante blue
zetsu