so things they move, like this is a river, like that was a river, all that media hype and the lava floes of disdain, I am thankful not being anybodies flack.

I am nobodies flack, if that set the ghosts dancing in your house than you are luckier than I. I just get these quiet breaths in the bath, I get nods of ascencion that barely make the candles jiggle.

Which is why I give credence only to draughts, so why you wanna fly blackbird.

oh god, oh god, back up, good to be good and drunk, sure enough, we dine on memories like flies, but what of these old memories that come back like koolaid, they are relentless, they will steel upon my night time just as surely as I ....


as what.


as before I drift to that pecularliar land before wakefulness and sleep, I might mutter an unanswered prayer, shut up heathens, you have no idea.