this majestic unicorn horn is a cheap fucking knock-off made by a child in a sweat shop in India you heartless thieving bastard, the paint is peeling off of the tip for fucks sake.

So as the leaves rot, so too does the paper.
So before I pack up my scanner…

Never nobody

Winston had a kind heart and could paint meticulously with oils, he made a ceramic frog that still sits by the front door of my mum’s house. I always suspected that he really did love her in some way and that her love could’ve been reciprocated had they not both been so muted in the realm, where their synapses could not spark to form such a connection. Not in that (or this) passage of time/space at least.

Lisa had a sly sense of humour and loved her leather jacket, she was destroyed too but well before she could even try to know herself. She was exposed to some of the greatest horrors of the institution that few could ever begin to fathom, but she had a light inside her nonetheless, that never ceased to fashion a smile.

And today they’ve both been bought down by their captors, but finally they are free floating majestic in the cosmos somewhere everywhere. Slithers of light in the fraction of a tragic moment.

I hope one day we find a better way through it, through integrating and overcoming  instead of switching off and shutting out.
Schizophrenia is spiritual, cunt.