<< Work >> The fluorescent lights get to my eyelids, a washed out world, everything is a temporary file in a layer upon layer to-do list. If I shift just a little of my weight toward the temporal lobe, I may become aware of this world. I may become alive with fear. I decide to sit, my mind stagnant, but orderly. I am the perfect resume.
|
Papercut | Molding | The List | Breaking Linguistics | Mirror| Delusion Fade Conform Email | Your Mark | Bleed | Your Mother | Thumbnail | Feast | Designer
|