Reblogged from satines
(via cuntlery)
I have never crossed paths with an English Wolf, but pardon my French they scare the cuss out of me.
I overheard my wife say sadly on the telephone: it’s been a terrible year. Sometimes it’s better not to know, especially if she wasn’t going to tell you. They say things happen for a reason, but they don’t. They happen for a lark and from the well-spring of limitless, infinite chaos. Sometimes this can be hysterically funny, and sometimes it’s a kick in the teeth. My apologies may ring hollow, but they ring frequently. What to do, what to do?
I’m not the fox I used to be. Not by choice. But these days, when I look at myself in the mirror, I try to keep a straight face. At some point, maybe I won’t feel the need to turn away.
