Aw, shucks, I miss my wife

Why is he so big?

Morning, my people

Obligations
Complications
Routines and schedules
A job that will kill you

Silk, dampened, unknown, over final thoughts
Where will I be in two years?
Euphoria breaks over the bow, washing up the macabre
Out to sea to my mother's arms

There's that fear again coming through the grass
Deeper it goes singing a song

Two bananas:
Deleuze and Baudrillard

And I'm trying to keep these bones inside my skin
But my body's in a hole my shadow digs
And as I struggle to maintain my position
The oil's dried from this heart of rusted tin

Moscow (January 2026)

And true love waits
In haunted attics
And true love lives
On lollipops and crisps

My garden... it will be awesome, radishes and shit... cucumbers.

Matter is an iffy thing, kinda solid, kinda not. I grab a thingy, it holds, look close and it's all like sand, I think my soul is in there.

I don't like being filmed, I love filming, I think. We should be friendlier, I should tell my collegues how much money I make.

Our garden will be the shit.