Nov 8 — Gleam in the drain
Tonight the city coughed up a neon coin. It wasn't mine. I kept it in my pocket until the light faded.
WELCOME TO THE END OF THE WORLD
a misty neon ruin — saints & static
The city was abandoned when the lights learned to hum. Broken angels walked the alleys, trading old prayers for circuitry. This is a shrine & field journal for things that refuse to die quietly.
About
I am Saint Hendrix — sometimes soft, sometimes a blade in denim. This page is a weathered map of moods: fallen, lit at the edges by neon algae, haunted by small analog ghosts and the hum of machines that remembered how to dream. Keep your coat. Keep your quiet.
Shrine
Memory Lamp
A flicker in an empty cafe window. Hold it to the light and you will see a face you thought you'd lost.
Wing Fragment
A rusted feather, thermally scarred — beautiful and useless. I keep it anyway.
Cracked Tape
An old recording of rain and a voice that says, don't leave the doors open at night.
Journal
Oct 21 — The black humming
The towers sing at dusk now. It's not music—it's a pattern. I trace it in my sleep.
Aug 3 — Prayer to a broken sky
I left a candle under a flickering billboard. The billboard didn't notice. The candle did.