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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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