these days nothing but calvinism and pathology.

thursday 16.14. the unfortunate genpool of the welfaresociety are eating birthdaycake. somebody is turning 24. nursing the system. it works and the pleasure of working should be boxed in, but..

did I already write the canvas is dry and did I also write that she replied: "so am I"?

strange days in small town trauma. though the town have grown considerable larger, so it seems, has the ghost and the machine. or a mere selvverstaendlich observation, the joke will run out in a month, so will the perspective of occupation. forgive me for nagging and not spilling the beans and the details, but the world has indeed imploded to the size of our patio.

from here to everywhere.

its been a while, a homecoming drama queen and a second rate poet now with a steady job and income. the club bore, the sweat is in your face, the reward is in heaven, all between is love and hate. ill bet theres more sides to it, but for now: trabajo, trabajo, trabajo.

thats spanish for work like squirk is english for a noise u can be without but cant escape.