'Who am I' she asks : A creative explosion of paradoxical remarks the student replied.




There’s something about sitting at a cafe after hours. It may be brightly lit or dimly luminescent, you can make it your own. I could imagine a crowded city coffee shop or just between you and I, a bluntly sparse residential space that might crave in its empty seats the warmth and bustle of human murmurs, but the chairs and tables seem to speak on their own all the same.

They tell you stories of people that have been there before. Ghosts of your own imagination that appear to be just one proper touch away to bring it about into sharpness when you look across the room to a certain couch. And when its dark outside on a windy evening, the apparently singular street lamp appear to illuminate the thin showers only for your sake to tell you that time is indeed passing by. With your hands cupped around your cooling tea, your eye sight dims and presses dryly against your pupil. It’s a sleepy, nonchalant thing. Against your companion you don’t really know anymore what you’re saying, so you pull words out of the window pane from what you can catch of its history and create your own. Just like that an hour and a half has gone by and the dinner in your stomach has settled. The crinkles of your clothes are no doubt pressed neatly against yourself to impress on your skin, just atop the thin layer of a day’s worth of the same count of time passing by in a different manner. A different matter altogether.

Coffee shops and lethargy does that. Sipping milk and tea with the scarcity of a cat lapping water out of its dish in the summer. Sweet, sweet laughter that hides the discontentment for the night has come to an end. So the parade packed up its bags and headed home, out the door where the European coffee shop owner carrying scars of crinkles in the canvas of his face like an old retro Mexican movie bowed slightly to bid you good night. Adieu. Thank you. You almost hear senorita, but I think that was just the coffee shop speaking again.

Ca-Ca-Ca-Ca-Cater Me

I often get a lot of questions about what I like once people find out my favorite music artist isn’t a beaver. So here I am to explain something. No? You didn’t ask? You probably didn’t even bother reading the title.

However, this indulgence in occasional narcissism is allowed because…

Of this beautiful baby
Of this beautiful baby

First, I’m going to give great cheerios for the woman who nominated me. Such sweet words. Visit her at

And no, I can’t shorten the link name cause if you haven’t already read the reason why my web link doesn’t make sense in Excessive Thoughts..well you don’t deserve to know now the short way.

Now I’m going to break some rules here and make things interesting. The last time I poured my heart out on surprisingly, another version of the Liebster award, well… I guess some people just don’t know beauty when they see it. Therefore, allow me the privilege to give you a walk through of a series of photos that represent me.

Trent Reznor
Trent Reznor (Nine Inch Nails)

The sweet perversion of older men.
Older by more than 25 years.
Guess I’m a backwards cougar?

Sigh. Handsome lads. They just don’t make vocal cords like that anymore.

Maynard James Keenan
Maynard James Keenan

Maynard James Keenan

Perfect Circle
The Puscifer

Might I add as an honorable mention:

Reeve Carney
Reeve Carney

Young one, you’re only 30. Give it 20 more years until you reach the epitome of orgasmic voices.



Bunkering down and reading a book with a cup of tea.

Orange Pekoe
Orange Pekoe

Just like an old woman.

Might I also add with a shit load of sugar and condensed milk.

So a TOOTHLESS old woman.


Love Interest:      

Milo (My-low)
Milo (My-low)

Most of you already know.

If there’s any brave soul of a woman out there who dares put her meat on the market, you’ll understand my pain when I tell you this. Chasing after one who’s as capricious as the wind is a hard life. But it’s worth it.

Also, note worthy, am obviously an aspiring artist if you haven’t gotten that through yet. Taking photos of my cat’s crouch is my calling.


Pervert + TOOTHLESS old woman + rejected romantic = It’s a wonder I have friends.

Now was that not interesting?                                     cinderella

No? Did I say this would be fun for you?

Well, who were we kidding. This was all for me.

Oh yeah. And for the nominees.

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celeste lee cloud

writer & artist

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