( me / via )

Cross Road Blues.

"Stalag 47"

Siphoning sores, newsreels
Sunday’s waste of racetracks

Are we there yet, oarlock
Ogpu with dog collar

Voice in my head hastens
To heckle staid radon

My fingers fly broadcast

Fantaisie Espagnole.

If textures are a world, those textures in motion are a story.

"Outside of the exceptions mentioned above, science fiction is written by empty people who have failed as human beings."