My room has an uncomfortable, encumbering look on its face. Nothing is in its rightful place, not even the speaking voice. Summer is almost over here, yet hangovers are visible. There are stolen passionflower blossoms from Berkeley waiting to be pressed and tucked.. and from Kathmandu I have lighters that don't work (but keep me warm). Like how the smitten can't locate their frowns, I am paralyzed into believing I have no discipline. Yes, there are a lot of condensed sentences in use today.
But soon, I will pick up the shoes and separate them from the socks. The books will go up and old bills will be filed. Until such technically holy cleansing of the non-living things, I will stay away from them. But, I know comfort is an impending guest. I am an optimist..
I don't know what is more rewarding, articulating your laziness while being a pig or killing the pig?
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