Oh what can ail thee Cat-of-Arms Alone and quietly musing Though the sense has withered from the floor above And no birds sing
~
Oh what can ail thee Cat-of-Arms Alone and quietly musing Though the sense has withered from the floor above And no birds sing
Not too pretty a world anywhere anymore, I suspect.
Very glad to be closer to the end than the beginning.
But then none of it exists (in a way engendering palpitations, at least..) if/when I don't think about it.
In a way, the internet is the rusty ice pick people used to jokingly talk about poking their eyes out with... so it's like bliss bliss bliss bliss bliss <look at the internet> OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING IN THIS HELL?!??!??
Or the like....