The Vortex Where My Heart Should Be

A victim of her own neurotic and obsessional symptoms.

The highest quality uterine vellum was made from the skins of aborted calves.

Sometimes, I get sick of process. 

An illustration of a transitional state, quite possibly a Bardo.

A World of Fun with Reptile Brains

1. Migraines

2. Impotence

And then I found my secret language was not secret anymore. 

Sexting in the Limitless Metropolis.

Synechdoche

Postcards from Camp Cuckoo

Katie escapes Camp Cuckoo.

Fragments of Nothing. 

We now live in the Paradise of Laws.

Not Suitable for Microwave

The Weeping Plastic Surgery Disaster. The Tears of the Monster. 

The Mudra of the Texting. 

In Caves, All Socks are Grey.

We Live in the Paradise of Guns.

December 19, 2012

Between the Self and the Self. Thank you, Alighiero Boetti.

The Palimpsest of the Weeping Monster

Has Viagra let you down? 

The Weeping Monster.

"Ejecting consciousness into the sky." I actually heard someone say that.

Part Two of the Day I Forgot My Glasses.

The Subterranean Library, according to Google Maps and Google Translator

"If I had not bent the fabric. If time had not stood still." 

                                                         -David Bowie

"It is nearly impossible to make people understand each other."

                                                                        - Maria Martins

Pronounced Frontal Bones

The Arm of the Homunculus

Garbed in martyr crimson, he received the text.

In the Nation of Text Message Senders

Janus Faces with the Horned and Flayed Homunculus. New deities, mythology and iconography invented daily.

Endless personal diasporas occurring daily.

Paradise for the Monkey Mind.

Italian Shoes Continuum in the Nation of Text Message Senders. 

Amorphous Narratives in the Endless Metropolis

I've slipped through everyone's clutches.

Dreams never end. 

We're all inside our own heads now.

A diamond where her heart should be.

This weekend, I intend to stay at home in a state of resolute boredom.

The blind leading the distracted.

The Recovery of the Imagination

Some sort of an oracle, I suppose.

Italian Shoes Continuum, Part Two

More Italian Shoe Wearers.

Italian Shoes Continuum

These fellows definitely wore Italian Shoes. 

Again with the Endless Metropolis, Already

You know, I don't talk much, except to myself. 

There are edges to the Endless Metropolis. They are not readily discernible, however.

Five Denizens of  the Endless Metropolis

You and I, We are Satellites

Thinking in Silence in the Endless Metropolis

Living in a Nation of Princesses