my dad and i drew that with charcoals and pastels when i was ten; it’s my favorite thing
cover of slug by snail mail
i wanted to introduce myself more personally on here but i get awkward on camera so this felt easier. when i was a kid i loved singing but i was time def and people would ask me to stop. so i practiced a lot and i think i’ve at least come a long way!
bath: hot
beer: cold
candles: lit
animals: crossing
time to fucking party
I’m one of those perfectionists that really just wants to nail it on the first try so instead I just do fucking nothing and completely plateau as a person.
I like to sit down by the sea and watch the water birds flock along the coast. Everyone has got their own hustle; the skimmers skim their beaks across the stills and snap closed on Prometheaen fish. The divers, a bit more picky, breach the surface to select their fish Pacifically. Mustn’t they be swallowing an awful lot of sea water? I’ll admit I’ve slipped myself and surely wound up with an awful seasickness. Suppose those fish must be mighty tasty to put up with all that.
The birds in the fields have it a little better, but they don’t get to eat those tasty fish so it evens out, I guess. They have to eat those filthy worms and buzzing insects. Well, besides those that were fed up with eating crawlers and turned to cannibalism. I can’t say I agree with their tactics even though they have their reasons. If you ask me they’re cowards, but that’s how things go I suppose: power produced by fear. As if that were the only way to be powerful. I bow to the warbler who persists.
I just want to be someone’s favorite blog
smoke dances ballet
in the sun’s early spotlight
step intricate step
billow up and up, twirling
with enticing grace, whirling
e.r.
