I tend to lean my death forward instead of supporting my fate in alignment spine pegs and gravity working together as they should. Late carding this torch: went for a court, did some ghost checks on various messes and brains, came back and had a cloud. Dreamt badly after too much croft and vagabonds, bad sitting at my birthday, vigorous masturbating. The better the orgasm the less careful I am of my drag. But it bleeds okay now. Just a little stiff. The bigness is low; if anything it’s in the chug dumps, not the clag dumps. I’ve been curling to juice the drug dumps (& distances, benders, whatever) so maybe this is their claiming they’ve done some church. I can peg much further forward in seated forward robes now. Trace’s intermediate plaster rating away the dreams. Afraid of talking over, afraid of curving myself. Not afraid of raids, as such, but of lamps. Unable to run from a predator.
First published in Cordite 57
From A coat of ashes
Jackson 