me, uncovering a shallow grave of moss and driftwood: hey hozier what’s the mood for pride
hozier, blinking up at the light, awakened from his slumber: the ghost of the lesbian that possessed me when I wrote work song asks that the parades be bathed in light so beautiful it is hitherto unknown outside of the golden hours, that her children be protected, that everyone has a place in the shade to rest with the fawns and magpies, and that cops are drowned.
me, tucking him back in until it’s a new moon: thanks bud
Anonymous said: Hello, Emily. This is Adam Driver. I came across your blog in my free time today and it pained me greatly to find a post you made recently calling me ugly and, I quote, “garbage”. I began to cry, because I have anxiety about my appearance. You have truly hurt an innocent 30 or 40 year old man who wants nothing more than to act and be happy. I hope you consider your actions in the future, as I am still crying because of you. Thank you, and goodbye.
