august always feel the same now, pale wash, saran wrap gaze, trapped between two tunes, often i catch myself thinking aloud - what did i say that for? is that the sound i make?
i have been on the phone for two hours and it is too much, i can hear someone whistling in the back or maybe it is a baby crying - the same two tunes? reminds me of a vietnamese restaurant in saskatoon where a child is watching pokemon on the other side of the wall, he is trapped too, the food was cheap and good.
there are subtle references throughout, the same patterns repeat, the same feelings swell and cede. there are a series of vacation pictures projected on the wall, to the untrained eye it would seem like the same slide repeated, but we both know the difference.
i am looking at a dead man’s body of work, compiled into a single torrent. everyone is sad but there are so few seeds, is this where we go when we die?