There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
much more tactility
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
in a post. I want to be remembered
like first name
i understand
to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos
i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything
god "possessing" artists "possessing" people
The Hatton geezer (fuck off) is emptying his pockets, searching for the silver rizlas he apparently has. He refuses to take one of mine (also silver) because the tobacco I'm giving him is already too much to ask. He tells me about the guy who can do 50g of Golden Virginia for a good price, the guy who every other man over 50 knows. I'm not interested.
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
so an active mazelike process
or never left
isaac
its good