attempt promotion of old works I want to fiddle with but keep me away

old swollen blues the train station drew closer, first train aching rattle over the tracks, empty stomach feeling. Dirt more than just dirt lifted in the air. Like a mind presence of dirt can hardly move with ease can hardly allow anything but dark of skull space leading to that brightness in the blood; it was like suddenly seeing old dreams thought lost, hearing voice of one thought past away long ago; all the sounds you ever had made having left the world, could once more return?

-- "A Johnny Paranthesis" at birkensnake properly secretly - - __here__

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