Checked Kerchiefs

ne plus ultra, Vinterberg!

The stereo dead, Grateful Dead head.

Camp Jened learning outcomes. props to afflicted selves, crippled refrigerators/humans.

Hedzoleh

chunks of land morphing into chests of banks, where are my dabbas of love, my love?

And at every turn of the wheel I remember you. The spinning wheel of love, the unspun balls of grief The more I spin them, the more they seem to double.

therefore, when your vehicle is parallel to the curb, straighten wheels and stop

I got a balcony. And the Max Roach Quartet for company.

Almost blew. Yer highness rolling across the soons as if there were no noons, no monsoons.

The fabric of existence weaves itself whole.

the uncluttered number 30. for the love of the board, too many keyboards whom all I love equally. 

"There are things you can replace and others you cannot" Jerry never stopped. He was in search of Althea, Ophelia and the Saturday’s Child all in one go. Presenting you the Wall of Sound for life. Lately it occurs to me, what a long strange trip it’s been. ‘go to’ to devalayam: http://artsites.ucsc.edu/GDead/AGDL/

until they lay me down to die.

Aaaaand I danced. Further up on the sunshade.

Deekshithar funking it like no other. Paint it Thirupparankundram.

This piece from the Mofussil Notebook is it. Isn't it.