All parents have a favourite. You are not it.
Time is going backwards. Returning to the womb is not going to be the pleasant metaphor you always hoped it would be.
If you put post-it notes on everything you will be loved. Go on, do it. Trust me.
You’re about to get caught, but not for the thing you think you’re about to get caught for. That thing will go undiscovered.
Duck!
Your password is password.
It’s time to upload your boring life to a harddrive.
Your plays will go unperformed but your slam poetry videos will be used by alien archivists to explain the death of our planet.
Johnny Depp has a new tattoo that is, quite by coincidence, shaped like your face.
When you woke up this morning you never expected to be Mayor of New York.
Stop blaming insinct for your terrible decisions.
The desert will be your home for the next few months.
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Published by The Sleepcoat League
Armchair anthropologist, sometime scribe, freelance philosopher, amateur artist, part-time poet, musical maven, alliteration aficionado.
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