We span slowly in place to test the temperature of each compass point, then followed the cold northwest.
Despite the wind, snow clung to the smallest branches & drifts cumulated in the folds of our scarves.
On the bridge over the black oil creek, we thought we heard a child's voice.
The pylons were stung by the sleet-filled wind, like us, and rattled their maintenance locks.
Couldn't get a shot past traffic, but the word's been smudged into an illegible pale blur, as sometimes happens when ghosts pass away.
talking about old gay porn
God, there's a scene later with a guy jerking off & getting fingered while lying back on a working 1988 Gottlieb Robo-Wars table, bumper lights flashing under his shoulders, in front a wall of windows whose blinds fill the entire backdrop with the most overwhelming moiré patterns.
blood, feet, surgery, house-razing
While cutting at my feet, my surgeon mentioned that her house had just burned. The details echoed, startlingly closely, those of the house-fire I narrowly escaped as a child, but I was too preoccupied with bleeding & being sympathetic to worry that I might be a carrier for a curse.
Scarp scree clatter.
Within 30 miles of Philadelphia, because of a curse.
Une instance se voulant accueillante pour les personnes queers, féministes et anarchistes ainsi que pour leurs sympathisant·e·s. Nous sommes principalement francophones, mais vous êtes les bienvenu·e·s quelle que soit votre langue.
A welcoming instance for queer, feminist and anarchist people as well as their sympathizers. We are mainly French-speaking people, but you are welcome whatever your language might be.