wineskins.

wineskins. wineskins. leather bladders tanned to canteens carrying.. shit.

i don't know. pen-in-mouth, this image is stuck in the grey matter since my world lit class today. it's very fatalistic, really. morbid at least. it's in the same hand as mud becoming flesh.. so then it becomes leather. we are all leather carcass bags, canteens being lugged around. and we're all full of shit. 

nice.

i swear that i'm not in a bad mood. i'm actually peachy and haven't had to yell swear-words at traffic today. hmm. my mind is just way too conscious for my own good. River Phoenix said it best. that is to say, he was great up until he killed himself. hmm, if anyone could just get a sense of my thoughts, i would more-than-likely be committed somewhere. my head is way too old and busy and my contemporaries might as well all be on a different planet, save a few bearable ones. 

and to conclude the drabble: if left to be a leather wineskin, what are you canteening (other than shit)? i'm curious; i'd have to think a while even to answer for myself..