This is like an online notebook, this stuff is not finished or often even started properly.

Today.

Today.

Today I had some time to waste, and I saw you. You thought that I was the flab of the city hanging out of place at the junction of two streets. But I knew you were excess, that you were one clinging to narratives too scared to find your own. That you were one of the bulimic absorbers of culture vomitting into textbooks. That you were leading the search for programmed wisdom running with ordaned soothsayers after glimmering plans.

And it was at this moment that I thought of the last day of the squat. When the Lativian street kid turned to me, his companion sniffed up on meth and breaking apart the walls and plaster, searching with a hammer in torn up floor boards for some hallucinated treasure, and said "why shouldn't I believe such a shiny shiny plan" and picked up a hammer too.

Here I saw you and you looked like my friend or at least temporarily your wallet weighed the same. You were reading judgements from a castle built on speculation and you were all that someone holds dear, but nothing of importance.

You were a god wasting time wanking. You were gorgeous, yet ruined by your looks. You were hopeful of a future to be delivered in the post. You were ever present in history but always living out of context. You were the victor making all the nursey rhymes paste to billboards. You were a consumer with your finger on the shop alarm. You were a stranger listing un named enemies in groups and painting my world a nightmare with thick vague sweeps of a heriditary brush.

And you were part of me aswell, you are the lover into whom I pumped all my best lies. You are the reason I have no desire to visit the moon, but wander drunk through full up streets. You are the reason I write and know I will fail. You are the reason I am happy even when its sad and you are just a fucking monkey playing with it's thumbs.

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