maybe our own retro gression lead us back to the start. for me, its true. it doesnt matter this time around, as time is nil in these parts. my lips cant wrap themselves around goodbye so why would my hands be able to grasp anything. larger than a smoke, smaller than a cloud, i am the caterpillar and the world is my toadstool, the world is my fucking porcelain tea cup i cannot remove from your cold dead hands. well one of these days ill steal it back, one of these days ill look up from a daze and catch you off gaurd, because i thnk all of you are missing something, ive grown without. the joy of _____. in a circumsions breath the joy of something keeps us alive. i crack jokes because im nervous, i make you laugh because i need to, but i have no joy. so find it. the world becomes new colors and other such jazz, but the goal of human appreciation through human joy is the easiest of all. find something that brings you joy, and you will feel whole again. and while you havent been looking, ive lost weeks on years wishing for looking for searchings sake.
my photos have gone missing, or i take shitty ones on my fone, of places my uncles shoudl bomb, so ill get to that. i hear the word collaboration thrown around and i may just set up some studio time with my two u of t friends ( drunken foto time YEA!!!!!!!!!!) or just some random ones.
i hope you fucks didnt miss me, because i sure as hell didnt miss you.
except you, your cool
killa med