04.Oct.2001

and one

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and they're making eyes at suburban boys

I somehow feel my moods can be expressed via my Diarylandic headers. As reality becomes much more surreal yet fulfilling than fantasy, my creative juices begin to run dry.

And I really wouldn't mind smearing Clove-taste all over my lips.

I plan on writing music again shortly, if only I weren't so mesmerized by the contrast of my nail-polish against the piano's ivory keys. If only I weren't so somnolence-instilled today.

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time & machine