glomad

Something magic happens when everything familiar is removed from the outside, and all that’s left is (imaginary) me… same old me, new world (or, as one of my old songs goes, “Same Planet, Different Universe”). Kinda like a ginormous sensory deprivation tank but with lots of other auspiciously random people in it, it reflects me […]

  in my heaven the angels are jazz virtuosos they know when to put the horn down    

elephants don’t run away to the circus you are your own kind of wild stampeding into the dungeons of passion where’s the mahout who could match you?

honestly i never understood just what you meant when you said “let there be light” was i resisting?