I can take it. I know where I'm going.

[jacktellslies]

Ice is such a decadent thing. I love it.

There are things I need to learn. People speak of hell fondly. I think of the old restaurant in Montmartre, but I am not so clever or as bold as some of you. I need to work and to pay off what I owe, yes, but I need to ruin and make some things whilst I do it.

Yesterday was busy. I worked, and I sanded down a nice trash picked dresser I'll paint and sell, and I worked on something that may, at some point, be art.

I have a mohawk that I never spike. It flops to the left, shorter at the back but often in my eyes at the front, only just long enough to tuck behind my ear, now. I'm done with it. It is hot outside, and I want simplicity. I always want to cut something off of me. I'm back to being a monk, a monk planning for hell.

Comments

[cynical-ghost.livejournal.com]

It seems as though the gremlins that hide things have hidden the paper I wrote your address on. If you could email it to me, I would be grateful and then I can mail you Tilda on Monday. (DaenaCat@gmail.com)

Monks with mohawks would be nice. Instead of chants, they could start a punk band.

[earlofgrey.livejournal.com]

Oh my goodness, thank you! I shall email now.