My Thistled Thoughts
Poetry // Prose // Personal Passages
“What a phantasmagoria the mind is and meeting-place of dissemblables! At one moment we deplore our birth and state and aspire to an ascetic exaltation; the next we are overcome by the smell of some old garden path and weep to hear the thrushes sing.”
— Virginia Woolf, Orlando: A Biography
Latest from the Blog
Warp Zone
teleport me to new terrain
Freak Storms
there are brittle
cicada shells beneath
our feet, i’m in them,
i’m a shade, an exoskeleton
My Heart’s Wallpaper
It’s been twenty four minutes since the last time I’d ever see you again.
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