yeah, the contract the social one, so long ago supposedly agreed to, we were born instead into. what

may be too onerous a task for those not starving. lucky

liking to say things, all kinds of things, mostly about the way things seem

we go walking around walking all over this town nothing ever getting us down cause we’re just a couple of clown…

i keep smiling forgetting to remember to stop myself.

we are nearly always a world which almost

no means no. no response means no. (everyone knows maybe means nothing

i could not conceive of such beauty, it had to hit me like it has. nothing

god is unwelcome in suburbia, the cells are too comfortable there, & love rests best under stars.

Fieldwizards and firetops. Wobblybirds on snowflowers. Chilled milk and chowder for the little prince. Mothercake for mumbled thanks.

if i stub my fucking toe it’s their fault so say i, and who could argue? you almost