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Jo McCrory is a writer and artist living in northern California.

  • day 20/30

    the waves and the wind the subtle romance of a quiet song playing in your room while miles away, someone moves through life giving you breath -rjm
    the waves and the wind
    the subtle romance of a quiet song playing in your room while miles away, someone moves through life
    giving you breath

    -rjm

  • day 19/30

    I ask you to define death, and you tell me that death is a __pantheon of__ ___nightmares__ shifting into alignment right before the collapse. When I look into your ___past__ I can see how this question came with a gravity that weighs you down at the __root__ - I would apologize, but instead I _light a cigarette___ and that's something you hate about me, but you know it makes sense anyways. Tell me about this room, the ___wallpaper__, the way the answer tastes like __lemon candy__ rolling around across your tongue. This conversation is __over__, still, I __reluctantly ask you to define time. Your eyes shut slow, or do they? What is slow? What is time?- I ask again. You take my hand and say time is __nothing__ __and__ _everything___. Suddeniy, I realize just how __fatigued__ you are with yourself. -rjm
    I ask you to define death, and you tell me that death is a __pantheon of__ ___nightmares__
    shifting into alignment right
    before the collapse.

    When I look into your ___past__
    I can see how this
    question came with a gravity that weighs you down at the __root__
    - I would apologize, but instead I _light a cigarette___
    and that's something you hate about me, but you know it makes sense anyways.

    Tell me about this room, the ___wallpaper__, the way the answer tastes like __lemon candy__  rolling around across your tongue. This conversation is __over__, still, I __reluctantly ask you to define time.

    Your eyes shut slow, or do they? What is slow? What is time?- I ask again. You take my hand and say time is __nothing__ __and__ _everything___.

    Suddeniy, I realize just how __fatigued__
    you are with yourself.

    -rjm

    this was a mad lib prompt from Seneca Basoalto