(no subject)

[drunkwithpines]

i dreamt that i was writing in my journal, but was doing so by stitching rune-like glyphs into the underside of a worn couch cushion. sinking into the joint between seat bottom and back, i was swallowed up by the sofa and went unnoticed by my passing housemate despite my efforts. i found myself unable to make a sound: i had thought of a joke about catherine zeta-jones, one funny enough to wake me with its sheer genius so that i might remember it. i forgot it.
i woke to the hollow echo of my own dream laughter crossing the border into earshot. it is a terrible sound.

i have been locking up all my posts lately, for no discernable reason. there are just a few. i have liberated them.