These Sundays past, we sit and sip—thinking of immortality.
philosophy over tea: "i'm nietzsche minus the travesty"
inertia in motion
Three days in pretend-mourning was too long spent in waste. He felt like a sack of dust and picked-clean bones, waiting to be exhumed and re-dissected like some voodoo séance. Thus, he emerged from the cat-comb tombs on the third day, wearing white like Jesus did (licking sin like Lucifer), and prepared to do battle with the Parisians.