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Film and Comparative Lit. graduate, begrudgingly plies trade in a post office (no, not like Bukowski). I blog about these things and also my terrible drawings for your (dis)pleasure. Furthermore ignore the wank off message the theme maker encoded into the script at the bottom. All content is obviously my own unless stated. I'm not going to watermark my stuff.

here's my last.fm

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christmasonthemoon: One last breath passes your lips and your brain begins to shut down, neurons splashing random images across your field of vision, a birthday party, an argument, making love to someone you once cared about, a long hot afternoon spent alone, regrets and missed opportunities. The lines smudge and the picture darkens as you feel your mind falling within itself, dropping through an endless black pit until a glow warms you from beneath. You shriek in horror as you realize that you are falling into a churning vortex of fire the width of a galaxy, but your cries become one with the deafening lamentations of a trillion suffering spirits below. As the heat become unbearable and you feel your soul turning to ash, you are enveloped in white light. You awake at a cubicle in an office, in front of a computer. “Hey man,” a TMZ editor says as he stops behind you on his way to the break room. “You better get working on that Shiloh birthday collage, that shit’s gotta be done by three.”

christmasonthemoon:

One last breath passes your lips and your brain begins to shut down, neurons splashing random images across your field of vision, a birthday party, an argument, making love to someone you once cared about, a long hot afternoon spent alone, regrets and missed opportunities. The lines smudge and the picture darkens as you feel your mind falling within itself, dropping through an endless black pit until a glow warms you from beneath. You shriek in horror as you realize that you are falling into a churning vortex of fire the width of a galaxy, but your cries become one with the deafening lamentations of a trillion suffering spirits below. As the heat become unbearable and you feel your soul turning to ash, you are enveloped in white light. You awake at a cubicle in an office, in front of a computer. “Hey man,” a TMZ editor says as he stops behind you on his way to the break room. “You better get working on that Shiloh birthday collage, that shit’s gotta be done by three.”

via christmasonthemoon
11 months ago on May 30, 2012 at 07:22pm
15 notes
  1. tragicka reblogged this from chasingdunamis
  2. chasingdunamis reblogged this from shrunkenheadearrings
  3. shrunkenheadearrings reblogged this from christmasonthemoon
  4. rodgepodge said: You should post your writing some more. It’s always enjoyable. :)
  5. laziestgenius said: “Click to see the pix!”
  6. christmasonthemoon posted this