Wait for it to load, etched grey red way back in 2001, on October 30th, Life’s [Full of] Possibilities, D[o]n[‘t ]tel[l] eximposed with grave hairs, piling up the side, and then the hegemonic affair, drifting sky with a blue nose, angled upward, where the church enveloped upon itself and made haste, where the bird yawning stars slowly fell to the ground and was graced with the comfort of a few finger tips, where the shoulder blades, extracted and exploited for their rigidity, were brandished before the abstract haze, planted growing in the eyes of man wearing a shirt with the top two buttons undone, the dog asleep, the crowded round, ringing in his ears, applauding, the radio switches on and it’s 199.6 FM and it’s a montage of all his all time favourite moments when he was falling beneath the brittle ache of a moon circled, in white yellow, the child wearing a cardboard golden crown, holding his waist with a mischievous might, a dream to fray, a dream to look forward to, a hand to hold its arms. Scared of her, they sung songs and he continued to tremble in his jumped up socks, looking feverish, scared to look at her, the system broke and alienated the girl’s touch, too heavy even to type when asked upon, the date ended slowly. They went back to their respective homes and missed the joy of the day just passed numbered. The TV turned on and Chris Tarrant was doing an impression of an ostrich celebrating its eggs. Eggs for everybody! Their eyes glazed over and slowly failed to fall asleep.
James Figurine keep up the good work with Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? Keep working it. Don’t let the eyes glaze over.
Time capsule # # / Consciousness stream to annul all the wanderings on my essayist process / my internet world, you’re in the straits