Little Guys

I keep remembering and forgetting and inventing things that I was and am, it's irritating today but usually it is alright. Living a life or whatever is the map of a point made by running your fingers beneath a loosely stretched infinite sheet of silk. Happiness is those rare occasions when your finger becomes bloody and raw and the life of you seeps into the fabric and you remain everywhere a while, until the blood decays and blackens and crumbles.














There are five greyed pieces of driftwood and all of them angle in unknown currents, salted and cracked from years at sea. There are five pieces of driftwood and each of them is discovered one by one, snared and meandering (noose-like) in the currents, of the purposeless sea. Five pieces of driftwood all end up choking idle in the shallows, five all end up wrecked on weird and ugly shores, remembering what they were.















Advice: Don't pollinate time with your angry insides.
Advice: Your stomach is smarter than your brain.
Advice: The slowdowns come too late to matter.