Flavigula

Here lies Martes Flavigula, eternally beneath the splintered earth.


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Thu, 21 Jun, 2001 17.07 UTC

Damn my luck at only finding the most terribly schizoid of women. Her mood vacillates between totally lovely and completely full of hate. Within the same two hours, we can be walking arm in arm in Munich’s gentle evening breeze and also be in a pernicious debate concerning some failing I had 10 months prior. Her scorn seems endless. When I am not the subject of her pointed ridicule, she does her best to find someone (anyone!) else to beat flat, cut to pieces, and feed triumphantly to wild pigs.

I should not have sacrificed so much.

Now I am frozen here (and subject to her caustic evening onslaught) until I have enough money to move on. Two months? Fuck.

Along with martens, goulish goats and the rippling fen -
these writings 1993-2023 by Bob Murry Shelton are licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

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