Berkeley Squared
@berkeleysquared.bsky.social
A guitar strummed, a song sung from memory once heard; felt needed then, felt needed now. I’m glad I paid attention in Tetsuya Mizuguchi’s Space Channel 5, thanks Ulala. xoxo
June 24, 2025 at 4:52 AM
A guitar strummed, a song sung from memory once heard; felt needed then, felt needed now. I’m glad I paid attention in Tetsuya Mizuguchi’s Space Channel 5, thanks Ulala. xoxo
What was it that you wished to do, Vivant Denon? I am following suit; to commit to memory as well as page this message, somewhere, somehow; a moonlight message, ye ken. Don’t we look at the same moon, stars, and sun? To whom do we turn when the latter is away? One another, sunflower.
June 23, 2025 at 3:42 PM
What was it that you wished to do, Vivant Denon? I am following suit; to commit to memory as well as page this message, somewhere, somehow; a moonlight message, ye ken. Don’t we look at the same moon, stars, and sun? To whom do we turn when the latter is away? One another, sunflower.
He pressed the panhandle first to my groin and then my throat, where all masculinity finds itself, and I pushed the barrel of it to my temples, and tapped twice. I know well these shores down to the sound of the native sand which squeaks as the weasel faster than a seven day week.
June 20, 2025 at 2:12 AM
He pressed the panhandle first to my groin and then my throat, where all masculinity finds itself, and I pushed the barrel of it to my temples, and tapped twice. I know well these shores down to the sound of the native sand which squeaks as the weasel faster than a seven day week.