How ephemeral our grace is in these wind stricken plains But I do believe It is our fate to reside here Away from the mountains of youth and safety In a fragile meadow (We build our home)
The Black Atlantic, Walked on Wood
I can feel the summer in this current
Behind your shoulders, he looms What can you say When winter is lodged in your throat?
I like stuff like theater, art, poetry, music, literature, superheroes, football, comedy and film. I regard breakfast foods with something akin to religious fervor. I dream of big cities, smokey improv clubs and being a werewolf. Like, all at the same time. I want to be the first werewolf imrpov actor to tour with Second City...