electraesthetic

When the still sea conspires an armour, and her sullen and aborted currents breed tiny monsters, true sailing is dead. Awkward instant and the first animal is jettisoned. Legs furiously pumping their stiff green gallop, and heads bob up. Poise. Delicate. Pause. Consent, in mute nostril agony, carefully refined, and sealed over. I don't really do a lot, so here's some music to make up for personality: www.myspace.com/nouvellevague www.myspace.com/godisgaygodisgay www.myspace.com/humanmetal www.myspace.com/missticrock www.myspace.com/fromasecondstorywindow www.myspace.com/locusttoybox It'd be cool if you'd talk to me.