...even a dead angel still smells a lot like heaven...

Day:?????

Vices== (:

Been more Kamikaze's than Pearl Harbor. All day I've been side-stepping over dead angels with cardboard wings and hanger halos. There's been the "What if" dead angel, the "She-would-be-with-you-if-only...,"dead angel. The infamous "Your-life-would-be-like-this-if-you-weren't-a-writer" dead angel, the "David, quick-working-millions-of-late-night-hours-and-start-examining-your-health" dead angel. The "David-just-date-someone-random-to-add-meaning-to-your-life-(like Voluptuous Jill. She's cute and she even flirted with you at the bar during the Red Sox game. You could have easily seduced her with wit-n-words and had someone to wrap Christmas presents for and introduce to your family at holdiays)-dead angel. There's the "David-call-up-your-mom-and-apologize-for-being-so-weird" dead angel.

Dead angels everywhere!!!! So many feathers and quills it's like the hot soroity just had a sleepover pillow fight!

I was pissed off and feel asleep on a park bench. Woke up to discern the lunar eclipse. Watched in awe as the chalky pearl moon was superseded by the shadow of our planet ("to see something there needs to be shadow"). We never think of earth as being starship, a spatial vessel. But it was assuring to observe the nylon tint skid across the lunar craters of our nearest satellite.

All these scattered quills and all this sad ink cached inside my chest. Shit, looks like I was meant to be a writer.

....even a dead angel still smells a lot like heaven.