Getting used to an academia-fractured schedule is going to take some getting used to, en plus, with coworker corollaries of ja das Nachtbus (in spirit at any rate), urban darkthroning is severely curtailed this semester, thus, before weekly junior offspring pickup campout on my new day off in the almost-middle of the week, a trek through the wilds of Parmastan, & lo, what hath I discouered, Thor vs. the burbs:
Guilty as charged but dammit it ain't right,
there is someone else controlling me.
A little bit postapocalyptic, a little bit rock &/or roll. Seated in the sun -- at that hour, no angle sleeps with angels in the shade -- the heat's but a looking glass for future haruspicy ingredients. Illusions both optical & visceral appeared, in salty beads & ink, respectively. The denouement, lines on a map, garbage honesty better left unseen, as usual, but an uncomfortable gleam alone is sometimes just what's needed. For what, I've no idea. When I find out, I'll let you know.
I hope it's not for looking in the mirror.