Welcome to my east-looking garden.
A tapestry of made-up stories. Logical fantasies, shame-bound illusions. An epic tale of triviality.
2024.11.08
Overwhelming demands, fragile knees cracking. Átlās, Christóphoros , Karuátides! Refuse to bear the world, and bear witness instead.
2024.11.06
If your Brass-God could dance, perhaps even M'aiq would believe in it. Zero-sum games are exhausting.
2024.11.05
You sigh in yearning, but I'm the one confused. If these dreams made any sense, I'd make a tapestry of them. Instead, I replay them in my head like a lunatic.
2024.11.03
Rust in my palette, like dust on my fingerprints. If my morning brew can help me see with clarity, I may survive this day.
2024.11.02
A cycle ends, with ease and grace. Hints of cinnamon, calming incense; a new wheel to turn.
2024.10.31