they're just so easy to play with

what does 'too much' mean, again? it's funny that i can remember EIGHT but not enough names or even faces to match up to that... maybe enough t-shirts... curly hair. life guard. can't remember. can't remember. life guard again. inappropriate. can't remember. blue flowers. chris.

the best bit is the moment before you kiss. You can see everything, eternity, nothing, infinity, all laid out in the blurred pupil...

damn damn damn.

it's like a scene from skins! this music, that'd be in the background, and then cassy would start dancing to it... why am i dancing?

Break into the grounds, down the hill, river weeds, back up! sit in the DAPPLED sunlight and get attacked by falling leaves - we love autumn - and think heavy heavy fermented rotted inside I'm like a gourd, all hard and mellow on the outside but inside writhing, like a fig, fucked up. But that's not what I was thinking about, I was wishing I could wear normal clothes or pretty clothes not weirdo clothes I was thinking about the frivolities of my existance about us dancing around the tree in our minds...

Cheese sandwhiches... I want more chutney in my life.

Once upon a time...
... there were white lines painted on tarmac and bright lights and faces looking down at us.
... we were moonshine, sliding down the long throat of a giraffe.

rushing
rushing
rushing

Corruption was everywhere back then, like gravity. We’d never understood how our bowl of hills had heated us in its palm until passions were all we had, but behind our bow ties we’re all children. They used to ask ‘why the long long long long face’ and we could only conjure ribbons for answers.

The money we had was burnable, turnable, solemnly vowed to be curable our diseases all sprouted from notes like mould, like envy. Who knew where we were going we only hid in our humanity to avoid the bounce bounce tarmac heaven which would stick to our souls because ink was not enough – no, it could never satisfy our picture frame throats. He didn’t even have a chance, that one, his stars were plastic not crosses, not sacrifice but a roll of the dice we lost ourselves in the buttons all up tour necks like we’re cartoons, these days, mirrored in perpetual motion to perpetuate equality frivolity look at those shoes! Who has the power here your hands are too small for all that, let me take that for you, from you, we’re gone we’re falling, spiraling but god we were never free we never lost our parachutes we’re real reality echoing banality nails are gleaming we’re screaming so come come your eyes in my glasses drowning my sorrows in your teeth which you hide to be serious young crocodile. She was vanilla vanilla not mixed just the straight edge dyed green. Reflect reflect on the returns of emotion commotion we’ll never get out of here.