non. seck-wit. ur.

It seems as though winter will never come.

I have cut my eyes on the shards of incomplete thoughts that swirl iridescently through the fickle tempest of memory.

Words, words, words. It's all about language. Arrange it, toss it, juggle it around, try to doll up the old tart one last time to see if she can still sing for her supper. So much has been done with so tired a medium. We need a new method of communication. I'm sick of this one.

Let's all feign surprise

Find out which American Psycho character you are