it's sad when everything's closed. and rainy. and when security guards harass you when you take pictures of newly built subways.
it's sad in a melancholic way. not pathetic sad. nor teary sad.
good sobs strengthen will. in the short-term, at least. there's some manner of exorcism, i'm sure. the has to be a pseudopsychologicalscientific word for it.
the little bug is regurgitated, it's squashed with a bare foot, just like chihiro did, hairs standing on end.
it's all improvement. assimilating and keeping it there, not letting it fade away due to weakness. feed it. groom it. celebrate it. make garlands out of colored paper and decorate it. mend it if it rips, with resistant string and a thimble (you don't want to prick yourself in the process, do you?). it seems very easy but it requires a lot of energy.
'a rush and a push and the land that we stand on is ours, it has been before, so it shall be again' is morrissey's only advice and i will take it and write it on a torn piece of paper and keep it in my pocket.
this crazy cat painted a picture of me.
some time ago.