The voice of children over radio tower lines. Speaking into tin cans about the game of capitalism. Instant chemistry conjured from a do-it-yourself kit. Lengthy letters written by-hand. The interminable technique of waiting for replies that show up sparse. On a map, two inches might as well be ten thousand miles. Traveling takes time. Until one day it doesn't. Until then, the medieval game of flirtation and hurry-up-and-wait dominates every reptilian hindbrain. The ones who won't wait become infantile parents. A cycle in perpetuity.
4:05 p.m. - 2018-08-20
Recent entries:
Dirty Yellow, Smudged Platinum - 2018-09-03
Increasing Velocity - 2018-08-27
Thunderous Valleyways - 2018-08-27
Wasting Away to Obesity - 2018-08-27
Bridge It - 2018-08-20
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