( The genus homo necrotechnophile; or Why One Should Peruse The World Wide Web With Care; or O! the shamb’ling 7331 5p34k hordes!; or just ‘Their brains can’t think’ (or even, simply, braaaaaains) )

When I was walking home today, I had a lot of things wandering around my head that I wanted to post about. I wanted to talk about walking itself, to begin with, and why I like it; and the weather; but also about winter, and kisses, and books, and the places I can be where there's nowhere I'd rather be, and why; and about photos, and poems, and ( Read more... )

To Whom It May Concern

This poem about ice cream
has nothing to do with government,
with riot, with any political scheme.

It is a poem about ice cream. You see?
About how you might stroll into a shop
and ask: One Strawberry Split. One Mivvi.

What did I tell you? No one will die.
No licking tongues will melt like candle wax.
This is a poem about ice cream. ( Read more... )

I have just caught up on the entirety of my flist, or rather, the bits I could get to ( Read more... )