This time it sounds like getting hooked by the Aliso evening undertow, losing track of the sky, and feeling only the blithest, most playful fear because you're a flitting fish child coming up on the chill of the breeze. A bonfire follows the track.
It's very nearly self-parodic that the song most reliably able to bring me to tears is eleven minutes long and largely about birds, but
"behind Land house a gentle cooing
the delight of once again being home"
"...twenty minutes of 'bleating'."
I need to return at midnight to see what appears on that perfect little shelf. My bet's on several framed photographs and, almost immediately, a single lick of flame to scorch them illegible. What do you reckon.
Scarp scree clatter. She, elle.
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.