collections of short narratives, rewritten episodes, & jovial cynicism



It's catastrophic, hypnotic. I'm lost in thought and I can't get up.

What was I still doing up?

My mind, made with sheets of glass, that feel too much like ash. 

There's so much to do, with nothing to say. I'm late, I'm late: wasted the day away. 

So push it to another day. 

I use to pick, but now I'm being picked.

I didn't even ask to play. 

Tatyana Mann