I have decided that the waves are made of seran wrap and for the first time they-re starting to wear thin. I didn't know that direct sunlight and other swamps of lights would lay their eggs, creating parts of the sea that ripple in light density. I have come to understand, well i hope i did, nah i prolly didn't do such a thing. Anyways the life thats there in the chicken egg wont stop swarming in my frying pan and im so desperate for food. i cant seem to remember the last time i had milk by my eggs you would think the dairy farm was a lot more sufficient in the fucking country side. but the country side is covered water. seas of my grandfathers worries. each time we leave that forlorn place my eyes start to crumble and my grandfather wipes his shoulders dry.
day four: in hours. I havent seen the light of the street cars in days. probably because im stuck in the wrong time period. Horse and Buggies are walking through the soot. Soot of manure and cricket voice. suddenly i realize im not that available for liking. not available to truely suck myself in there. And so the days start twisting and turning like my stomach. or just the way the flask hits my stomach. I ve found it. I see it. I ve lost it. I ve touched it. And it slipped.
i really wish i had a beer.
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